


Anything For You

by KH310-S (Author_of_Kheios)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alive Cole Anderson, All RK bros are FBI agents, Alternate Universe - Human, Cole Anderson is Older, Elijah Kamski Being Elijah Kamski, Elijah Kamski Being an Asshole, Elijah Kamski is a Mob Boss, Fluff and Smut, Gavin Reed suffers from heartbreak, Gay Disaster Gavin Reed, Lawyer turned CI Sheridan Avery (Sixty), M/M, Minor Case Fic, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, RK Bros, See Chapter Notes for further warnings, Shameless Smut, Special Agent Connor Avery, Special Agent Richard Avery (Nines), Supervisory Special Agent Erik Avery (RK1000), lots of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-22 21:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19986502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_of_Kheios/pseuds/KH310-S
Summary: Gavin has had a lot of relationships in the past, some of them worse than others, but none of them very good. When he catches his latest boyfriend cheating on him, that's the proverbial last straw, and he swears off dating for good. Three years later, he might possibly maybe just slightly want to back out on that promise when Fowler informs him that his case - which may have leads on one of the FBI's Most Wanted - is being taken over by literal sex god incarnate Special Agent Richard Avery. Richard could not possibly be more perfect, which makes Gavin all the more determined not to get involved, because he knows that if he does, the man will disappear just as quickly as all the others. Or will he?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO! So this started as a prompt from the [Detroit: New Era](https://discord.gg/ap9EhdC) server I'm a part of, that prompt being: _Gavin has a history of truly shitty boyfriends. Nines comes into his life, and Gavin wholeheartedly believes the only way to keep him is to do absolutely anything Nines wants in bed, no matter what. He’s always eager, Nines doesn’t pick up anything off. One day, they try something new, it terrifies him and he can’t help but to show it. Nines immediately moves to stop and soothe, but Gavin panics, promising Nines can do whatever he wants, he can take it. A Gavin who genuinely can’t understand why Nines would stop doing something he enjoys, just because it scares Gavin. A Nines horrified Gavin’s felt this way, and terrified he’s hurt him before._
> 
> So! I jumped on it, and in the end, I didn't even get to that specific scene until the epilogue. XD But in the meantime you get a whole bunch of Gay Disaster Gavin Reed and Bi Mess Nines just being adorable idiots! I'd say the trade off is worth it. :3
> 
> I'll try to post one chapter a day (?) for the next couple days, bc its only a few chapters long, but the chapters are longer than I usually do, so there'll still be plenty to read, don't worry~
> 
> Let me know what you think; give kudos, leave a comment, subscribe if you want more DBH content bc I'm absolute trash for this fandom! XD

PROLOGUE

"Damien?" Gavin couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice when he saw his boyfriend come out of the bar with a gorgeous twink under his arm, laughing and flirting vivaciously. Damien looked up and his smile faded the moment he spotted Gavin, just on his way home from a very long and very shitty day at work.

Despite the shit day he'd had, Gavin had stopped by Damien's favourite restaurant and picked up some food, just for him, hoping they might be able to eat together and maybe cuddle a little, something they hadn't done in weeks.

Now Gavin understood. He understood why Damien had been growing distant, why he was never home, why he'd gotten so irritated when Gavin asked if he wanted to move in with him, permanently. They'd been dating almost ten months, one of Gavin's longest relationships to date, and he'd been so excited when he paid the last installment on his half of the duplex he now called home that he'd immediately invited Damien over for a celebratory dinner and a housewarming fuck. They'd skipped the dinner and gone straight to the fuck, but Gavin had been too giddy to question it until afterward, when he'd offered Damien a key only to have it thrown back at him with a curse.

Gavin had naively thought that watching Damien leave that day ― was it really only a week ago? ― was the worse thing he'd ever had to suffer. Now, that seemed pitiable, but mild in comparison to the heart-wrenching betrayal that punctured his chest as he met the cold, uncaring gaze of the man he'd thought he loved.

"Who's he, babe?" the twink purred, rubbing himself up against Damien's side. "Jealous ex?"

"...Yeah," Damien answered with only a moment's hesitation, never once dropping Gavin's gaze. "Just a jealous ex." Gavin couldn't breathe, much less speak, and he stood frozen by Damien's frigid gaze long after the pair had meandered off into the night.

When Gavin got home, he subconsciously set the bag of food on the counter and dropped his keys into the blown glass bowl on the side table in the hall. He kicked his shoes off somewhere near the entrance and shrugged off his coat by the bedroom door. His shirt landed just inside, his pants ended up by the wall, and one sock made it to the corner of the room where the laundry basket was, while the other hung off the edge. He tugged the covers back and crawled between the sheets, numbly switching off the bedside lamp as he burrowed into his pillow.

It still smelled like Damien.

At last the numbness shattered, piercing him through with shards of agony that left him gasping breathlessly, like he would never have enough oxygen again. His head throbbed with every pulse of his heartbeat and he choked on shuddering sobs that shook him bodily and left him weaker with every passing second. Tears streaked across the scar on his nose and puddled against the pillow, soaking his cheek. He was too hot with the pounding of blood so quickly through his body, but couldn't even find the will or energy to shove the blankets off. Instead, he burrowed deeper into the bed and quietly cried himself to sleep, swearing he would never, ever feel like this again.

CH1

"Reed."

"What," he snaps, already irritated enough without someone bothering him with something trivial.

"Shut up and look at me when I'm talking to you, Reed!" Now he recognises the voice of his boss, Jeffrey Fowler, and he looks up obediently, but not without an annoyed sigh.

And then he promptly freezes.

Fowler is a well-built man, his dark skin giving him a sort of timelessness that only black guys have, and he's not bad looking, if Gavin were into silver foxes. But he's not the reason Gavin's mouth goes dry and his tongue stops working. He's certainly not the reason Gavin's heart is suddenly booming in his ears and threatening to make his head explode. At least one of his heads, anyway.

No, that right belongs to the stunning piece of artistry standing _behind_ Fowler. He's tall, easily over 6 foot, with dark brown hair that catches red in the right light, and piercing crystalline blue eyes set in chiselled, angular features. And dear God, he has the body of a Greek sculpture, his Adonic frame wrapped in the simplest of clothes, which do absolutely nothing to detract from his exquisite form.

Gavin can't breathe. His ears are ringing so loudly he barely hears Fowler introduce the man as Special Agent Richard Avery, on loan from the FBI for a case Gavin is working.

"Pleasure to meet you, Detective Reed," Richard greets in a voice so smooth and low that Gavin swears he almost cums right then and there.

But no. He can't afford to be hurt again. He swore it. And so far, for the past three years, he's done it; by keeping his walls up and refusing to let himself fall for anyone, he's managed to protect himself from the heartache. Thus, when Richard holds out a hand with a faint smile, Gavin merely looks at it and then crosses his arms, turning a bland look on Fowler.

"I don't need a monkey in a suit getting in the way of _my_ investigation," he says pointedly, glaring at Richard's hand. The agent calmly withdraws, unbothered.

"You need a partner on this, Gavin," Fowler sighs, already tired of dealing with him. "And since your vic has ties to a guy on the FBI's watch list, your partner gets to be a monkey in a suit, with a very fancy badge."

"I don't need him, I don't want him," Gavin growls. "Send him packing."

"First of all, you don't give me orders around here, Reed. Second, whether you like it or not, you got yourself a partner until this case is solved. And thirdly, he's standing right damn here; don't be a dick."

"Don't need to be," Gavin huffs, jerking his chin toward Richard. "Already got one Dick in the room."

"Gavin Reed, I am warning you..."

"It's alright, Captain," Richard hums gently, touching Fowler's arm for a moment to get his attention. The soft, unfazed smile he graces them with makes even Fowler falter; Gavin practically outright melts. "I'm sure Detective Reed and I will get along just fine."

....

"Have you contacted the victim's family, Detective?" Gavin suppresses a shudder when Richard leans over his shoulder to see his screen.

"Do you have _any_ concept of personal space, Avery?"

"Of course I do," Richard hums. "It simply isn't the same as yours. And that's Agent Avery to you, Detective." The scolding tone in his voice makes Gavin want to roll over and obey, but he reins in that desire, berating himself for chomping at the bit so readily; they've only been working together two days and already he wants desperately to see if Richard Avery is as good in bed as he is at work.

And he is good at work; there's a reason he's an agent at such a young age.

"She doesn't have family," Gavin grunts, not wanting to play the game right now because he knows if he does, he'll lose.

God, he needs to get laid already... How long had it been, seven months? Eight? Not that his libido has gone down since Damien, but hell if he's going to expose himself when his hand or a fleshlight will do the job, on the most basic level anyway; he only has to find a warm body every once in a while to satisfy some of the need to cuddle.

"No friends? Roommates?" Richard prompts. "She was 5'8 with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes and an hourglass figure; women like that are never lonely."

"No close friends, just a couple of girls she went to college with before she dropped out, and the roommate is overseas for the summer, so yeah, she was," Gavin gripes back.

"No, she wasn't," Richard persists, pointing to a section of the autopsy report. "She had repeated sexual intercourse over the course of several months leading up to her death two weeks ago. Either she was a fan of one night stands or she had a pimp; either way, that's a lot of people who might know something." He moves away to make a phone call, and Gavin can breathe again.

His cologne... it's subtle, but lingering, and Gavin shudders slightly at the thought of having that scent soaked into his pillows.

Jesus Christ, he really, really needs to get laid.

....

"Are you done for the night?" Richard asks when Gavin finally sighs and stands up. He doesn't even glance away from the file he's skimming.

"If I have to read another sicko's perverted preference, I'm gonna hurl," Gavin growls, grabbing his jacket. "We've been going over these bastards for hours and we still don't know which ones actually had contact with our vic; I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I need a beer, a fuck and a bed, in that order." He's at the door when Richard suddenly stands, setting the file down and reaching for his own coat. "What are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you," Richard states, folding the coat over his arm and clipping his badge to his belt.

"Uh, fuck that," Gavin scowls, desperate to hit his favourite gay bar but not wanting the Adonis across from him to know. "Look, I'm not bringing a booty call home, okay? You can even sleep in my bed for all I care; I'll be back in the morning."

"While I appreciate that you've opened your home to me for the duration of the investigation, I will not sleep in your bed. I will, however, treat you to a drink; consider it my gratitude for putting up with me this past week and a half."

"...Fine." If Gavin's learned one thing in the past week and a half, it's that Richard is, bar none, the most stubborn man he's ever met; if Richard Avery decides he wants something, Richard Avery is going to get it. "But in that case, you're driving, and I'm not stopping after one drink."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Richard smiles lightly as he passes Gavin and waits for him to lock the door. "Not if you intend to get laid tonight."

....

"Eden Club?"

"Supposed to be some sick twist on the Garden of Eden, from the Bible," Gavin grunts, glancing automatically around the parking lot and scoping for danger.

"I could have guessed as much," Richard returns blandly. "But this is a straight bar."

Gavin freezes, turning a dark look on the tall man beside him.

"Are you insinuating something, _Agent_?" he growls, warning. Should have known the real danger is right beside him.

"I am insinuating nothing, Detective. I am fully aware that you're gay; you didn't have to accommodate me in your choice of venues. Particularly when I am not straight myself."

"You're not gay," Gavin sneers, eyeing him up and down as dismissively as he can manage when all he really wants is to get a look at the man's naked body.

"You're correct," Richard smiles, turning Gavin's knees to goo and making his gut tighten with _want_. "I'm bisexual."

All of the blood drains from Gavin's face, but travels straight to his dick without even stopping at his heart on the way down.

Fuck this whole goddamn situation.

Without a word, Gavin turns and strides straight for the entrance of the club, pointedly ignoring the warmth of the body following close behind. After a quick pause at the door to have his ID verified, he goes straight to the bar and orders two shots of Bacardi 51, which he downs one after the other with a grimace at the sharp, bitter burn of alcohol to his nose and tongue as it slides down his throat, heating a path to his stomach, before promptly ordering a third.

“You should eat something, Detective.” He jolts when Richard appears seemingly out of thin air at his elbow.

“Fuck! Make some noise when you move, goddamnit!”

“It’s rather noisy here,” Richard points out in amusement, gesturing for the bartender’s attention. “252, please. I would be amazed if you could hear an elephant in this room.” Gavin stares at him, but not for the ridiculous excuse.

“Oh fucking- Don’t tell me you’re one of those pricks with an impossibly high alcohol tolerance,” he scowls, eying his third shot and wondering if it’s a good idea now.

“Somewhat,” Richard shrugs, nodding his thanks to the bartender and raising his shot glass. “If I’m to be driving later, I have to limit myself, and if I must limit myself, then I will have the strongest shot I can manage, and enjoy the buzz as long as it lasts. Cheers.” He knocks back the shot without so much as a flinch, and Gavin shudders under the show of dominance.

Already he can feel the alcohol affecting him, a lightheaded awareness settling over him that isn’t overwhelming yet, which means he’s got a ways to go before he’ll be suitably drunk enough to deal with the sex god standing beside him. Taking the shot, he taps the bar with the glass to get the bartender's attention for a tequila; with luck, he’ll be fucked up before the hour’s out.

....

A pounding _migraine_ and a desperation to water the desert suffocating him draws Gavin out of a very, very deep sleep. He can barely peel open his eyes enough to make out shapes of furniture as he drags himself out of bed ― naked and sore; must have gotten lucky ― and stumbles out of the room. He makes it to the kitchen, mind just awake enough to wonder at how similar this place is to his own, and grabs a glass out of the drainer to chug down two full cups of water. By then, his stomach protests, and his mouth isn’t quite so dry anymore, but his head is still pounding viciously, and now there’s a ringing in his ears, and oh fuck where’s the bathroom??

He doesn’t even make it a step before the first heave; he jerks back around and vomits into the sink, the burn twice as bad coming up as it was going down. An inadvertent sob breaks past his throat when the heaving stops, and everything hurts; his head, his throat, his chest, his stomach, his ass... He trembles, legs refusing to hold him up any longer, and lowers to a crouch by the sink, hands still on the counter in preparation for the next wave.

Sure enough, he only gets a few seconds to breathe before his body convulses again, and he yanks himself back up to lean over the sink, regretting every shot he took last night. After the first hour or so, he can’t even really remember much.

He recalls a messy kiss, and at some point he blew somebody, but beyond that, everything is a blur of music and lights and writhing bodies and endless drinks.

When the heaving finally stops and the nausea finally passes, he avoids looking into the sink as he turns on the water and washes the stinking mess into the disposal. Then he rinses out his mouth a couple times and drinks a little more water, trying not to overload himself this time so he doesn’t have to suffer another round of vomiting.

It occurs to him rather suddenly as he heads back to the bedroom to get a little more sleep that it _is_ , in fact, his home; he must have brought home his conquest without meaning to, and he feels a niggle of regret for making Richard listen to him going at it in the next room.

Richard isn’t sleeping on the couch though, and Gavin wonders absently if he was noisy enough to chase the man off entirely.

Oh well. He’ll suffer the inevitable jokes in the morning. Right now, he just wants to get a little more sleep before he kicks his partner out of bed and out of the house.

He pads lazily into the bedroom and eases under the covers with a soft sigh, glad to rest his aching head and body on the soft pillow and silky sheets. Despite the ever-present throb of mild pain haunting him, he snuggles closer to the warm body in his bed; just because he’s kicking the guy out tomorrow doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy some cuddling for the rest of the night.

The man’s breathing falters for a moment as the contact almost nudges him to waking, and then his arms slip around Gavin, drawing him in against a firm, muscular chest. He goes willingly, already dropping toward sleep as he burrows into the hollow at the base of the man’s neck with another small sigh.

....

The next time Gavin wakes, head still pounding, but less piercing this time, he’s half on his back, legs still tangled with his partner’s and one arm stretched out beneath the man, who’s propped on his elbow, watching Gavin sleep.

“Stop staring at me,” he mumbles, not quite awake yet and not ready to open his eyes while his head is still throbbing twice for every heartbeat. “‘S creepy...”

“Mm, but you’re oh so pretty,” the man hums teasingly. Ice floods Gavin’s veins with recognition and he bolts upright, scrambling back with a ragged cry, away from Richard, until he feels the edge of the bed, almost falling off entirely.

“WHAT THE FUCK??” he bellows, adrenaline sweeping away all aches and pains for one terrified moment. “The fuck is wrong with your head, motherfucking bastard??” Richard doesn’t move; he watches Gavin passively, one brow raised in amused curiosity, and it turns Gavin’s fear to rage. “Are you fucking deaf, you cockless mug of piss?? Why are you in my bed? Where’s the guy I came home with?”

Richard chuckles at his outburst, pushing himself up and bracing his hand on the pillows with one leg drawn up in a pose that’s decidedly alpha male, and also lets the sheet slip to his waist, where his hips poke out with no sign of underwear, or tan lines.

“You don’t remember?” he asks lightly. “I am the guy you came home with. And I’m hardly cockless.”

“What?” Gavin asks stupidly, unable to process what was just said.

“You really don’t remember?” Richard repeats, brow lifting again. “I suppose you were rather inebriated... That’s rather unfortunate; I quite enjoyed myself.”

“What??” Gavin repeats, blood draining from his face and panic setting in.

“But I suppose if you don’t remember, I will refrain from mentioning it, and we can continue working as we have up to this point.”

Richard stands, letting the sheets fall away entirely, and walks unabashed out of the room. Gavin’s eyes track him the entire way, taking in his perfect body, discovering ― or rather, rediscovering, apparently ― the impressive display of tattoos across his lower back, thighs, all the way down his right leg, and (inexplicably) his left forearm; a stylised grey-scale tiger curls from hip to hip, teeth bared and lips pulled back in a ferocious snarl, ears pinned flat, shoulders jutting up and paws flexed to display wicked claws, tail disappearing around the front; the thigh sleeve is another tiger, placid and calm, in black geometric blocks that blend into pretty designs around the back; fancy lines and circles with seemingly no order or meaning track all the way from groin to ankle, making his right leg just noticeably darker than his left.

He missed the forearm.

Half of him wants to follow Richard out and get a better look at the forearm tattoo, maybe sit on the man’s lap for a little bit while he inspects it...

The other half is horrified, not just by that thought, but by the fact that he apparently slept with the one guy he was actively trying to avoid last night!

Fuck fuck fucking fuck.

Grabbing his shirt off the floor, he hurries after Richard, who has decided making breakfast in the nude is a good idea.

“Do you have any- ah, here we are,” the agent hums, pulling a carton of eggs from the fridge and reaching back in for shredded cheese.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Gavin snaps, yanking his shirt on and tugging it down as far as it’ll go, though it hardly matters because his dick is swinging free and he’s really not that small.

“Making breakfast,” Richard replies lightly, bending over to see if he can find a pan in one of the lower cupboards. Gavin falters as his attention falls to the delicious view provided for him, framed with dark lines and presented like a gourmet feast.

He swallows hard and hopes desperately that Richard won’t look down.

His heart leaps to his throat when Richard turns and gives him an expectant look.

Oh shit, he asked a question. Gavin blanked. Is still blanking.

“What?”

“Would you like me to make enough for you?” Richard repeats, a faint hint of amusement in his stunning gaze. Gavin opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His mouth is a desert again, but for a far different reason.

For a moment, he can almost forget about his pounding head and aching hips, because God this man is fucking perfect and what harm would it do to let him be nice for a little while? After all, once the case is over and done, Agent Avery is going to leave, and Gavin can go back to his solo life, just the way he likes it. Just another little fling, for a few days longer than usual. Can’t hurt.

“I... Fuck, whatever,” he dismisses, trying to at least keep up appearances. Richard smiles and turns back to the counter, pulling the butter dish over from beside the toaster and searching the drawers to find a butter knife and a spatula.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says as he works, turning on the stovetop and checking that it’s heating before placing the pan on it and tossing a chunk of butter into the pan.

Gavin watches intently, taking in every graceful movement because he just can’t help himself, and realises rather suddenly when the butter starts sizzling that Richard is _naked_. Darting out of the kitchen ― and ignoring the increased pounding behind his eyes ― he scrambles through his closet for the apron Tina gifted him as a joke. It’s a frilly pink thing made of surprisingly sturdy but inordinately thin material with ‘Kiss me I’m the cook’ scrawled on the front, but with ‘the cook’ crossed out and ‘horny’ written above it in permanent marker.

Tina’s sick humour.

He rushes back and shoves it at Richard, who takes it automatically. "Put that on before you burn yourself, goddamnit!"

"Thank you, Reed," the agent smiles broadly, seemingly oblivious to Gavin's sudden need to support himself as his legs turn to goo; he slips the apron over his head and ties it across the tiger without comment on the colour, the frills or the words. He simply returns to cooking eggs, and Gavin finds himself watching all the more intently because holy fucking hell, he looks damn hot in nothing but an apron.

When the eggs are almost done, Richard tests a small piece for flavour and texture, gesturing for a plate. Gavin quickly gets two and hands them over, and then immediately tries to tug his shirt down over the erection now plaguing him. Richard merely turns off the stove, lets the eggs sit a moment longer, and then scoops half onto one plate and half on the other.

"Toast?" he prompts, turning over the pan and running warm water over the bottom of it to cool it down before flipping and filling it. Gavin obediently pulls a loaf from the bread drawer and sticks a couple of pieces in the toaster.

While his back is turned, Richard comes up behind him, just close enough that one move from either of them and they'll touch; Gavin stills, frozen with mixed anxiety and terror, and goddamn desire.

"You haven't decided," Richard murmurs in his ear, voice sinfully low and smooth. Gavin shivers involuntarily, eyes falling shut because this can't possibly be reality and he wants to revel in it for just a moment.

"Hn?" is all he can manage.

"Whether or not last night happened." His breath is so warm on Gavin's cheek, lips just brushing the edge of his ear. The barest flick of his tongue leaves Gavin helpless, melting, _desperate_. He actually collapses, and Richard presses against him, pinning him to the counter and holding him up bodily. The curves of Gavin's body slot perfectly against him; shoulders nudging up to collarbones, spine lining up between pecs and abs... ass moulded to fit around the hard line of his partial arousal.

Gavin's own erection is trapped against the counter, painful and weeping, begging to be held, and he shivers again, shifting forward ever so slightly and canting his hips back. A stifled gasp falls from his lips, and Richard's breath catches, arousal twitching against Gavin's ass. Four hands grip the countertop, white knuckled.

The toast pops, and Richard steps back, leaving Gavin weak and shaken under the ferocity of his own desperation. He struggles for several long moments to get a hold of himself again, taking slow, deliberate breaths. Refusing to look at Richard, he puts all of his attention into buttering the toast, because otherwise he'll be on his knees, begging for the man's cock. And when the toast is buttered, he forces himself to put one on each plate and slide one closer to Richard, forces himself to get out coffee grinds and turn on the coffee maker, forces himself to add water, add a filter, add the grinds, start the percolator, and _not look at Richard_.

"...Would you mind making me a cup as well?" His voice is hoarse, strained, and Gavin takes no small amount of pride in the fact that he's put the man off balance, broken the mask of passivity.

He pours two cups. When he holds one out to Richard, he pulls it back right when the agent reaches for it.

"We don't have to pretend last night didn't happen," he says lowly, trying to salvage a little of his dignity after that horrendous display of submission, "but it's not happening again. Got it?"

"As you wish, Detective," Richard smiles lightly, already back to normal.

Oh. Almost... Bit of a bulge underneath the words 'I'm the cook.' Gavin takes his silent victory and hands over the coffee.

....

It happens again.

First in the shadowed doorway of an alley after getting shot at three days later; adrenaline and survivor’s high prompt Gavin to shove Richard into the alcove for a steamy kiss that’s all teeth and tongues, and turns into a hasty handjob.

Then twice in the observation room, because blowjobs, and once in the interrogation room, with Gavin threatening to castrate Richard if anyone walked into the other room and saw him with his ass out.

Then again in the car on the way home after dragging in three suspects, all of whom ran and then lashed out when cornered.

All told, by the time Gavin and Richard stand facing each other on the runway before the agent flies back to Virginia with the murderer in custody, they’ve gotten it on a total of nine times. None of them ― save the first, but that one doesn’t count since Gavin was blackout drunk ― were penetrative, but they didn’t have to be; the pure passion of Richard’s body against Gavin’s was enough.

Is enough; he’s not going to be forgetting this experience any time soon.

“Nine times,” Richard recalls when they stop to say their goodbyes. He gives Gavin the little smirk that usually precedes the two of them locking a door behind them. Gavin struggles not to let his embarrassment show, since the words were spoken aloud, in front of half a dozen people from his precinct.

“I am aware,” he growls in warning, too late.

“Nine times what?” Tina asks, her short, lithe body popping up beside Gavin. She flicks short black bangs out of her dark Asian eyes and leans on Gavin’s shoulder with a familiarity granted to very few.

“Nothing,” Gavin humphs, glaring daggers at the smug agent. “Just an inside joke of sorts.”

“Very inside,” Richard hums. It takes everything Gavin has not to kick his shins.

“Alright then, Agent Nine,” Tina grins. She knows. Gavin can’t imagine her _not_ knowing. “Too bad you can’t stick around; I was enjoying our time together.”

“Likewise, Officer Chen,” Richard replies, still holding Gavin’s gaze. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Next time you’re in town, let me know,” she adds. “If I’d had a little warning, I would gladly have cleared out some space at my place so you didn’t have to force yourself to share space with this bitch.”

“Excuse you!” Gavin protests, tearing his gaze from Richard’s to give Tina a withering glance. She ignores it, as she always does, and smiles broadly at the amused agent, offering him a business card.

“Here’s my card. Personal cell is on the back.”

“My gratitude,” Richard says, taking the card and tucking it into his breast pocket. “If either of you find yourself in DC, give me a call; I’d be delighted to show you around.” Then, smug as ever, he extends a hand to Gavin. “It was a pleasure working with you, Detective. I look forward to another partnership.”

God. Fucking. Damnit...

Every word goes straight to Gavin’s dick, a reminder of the times they tangled and fought for dominance. He slides his hand into Richard’s for the sole purpose of yanking the agent close and leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"There won't be another partnership, _Nine_ ," he hisses quietly, grip tightening fiercely on Richard's hand. "Go home. I had my fun, but we're done now. And don't forget it's your ass on the line too if you mention this to anyone."

"The only ass I care about is the one I left a mark on," Richard purrs back, referring to the sharp bite he gave Gavin's ass during their last tryst, which bled freely, bruised quickly, and still protests whenever he sits down. And, because he's on the side out of view of the others, Richard nips playfully at Gavin's earlobe with the faintest of growls, the calculated pitch sending a barely stifled shudder through the detective's body.

"Mouth shut, fucker," Gavin warns, withdrawing only because there are other people around.

"I'll keep that in mind, Detective," Richard chuckles at a conversational level, shaking Gavin's hand and then stepping back and waving to the others as he boards the plane.

Gavin watches the large private jet until it banks off into the evening sky and Tina tugs on his arm, saying something about drinks at his favourite bar. As much as he hates to admit it, he already misses the agent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter, unless you're susceptible to cursing, but I doubt you'd have gotten this far if you were. XD

The overbright explosion of music from the nightstand draws Gavin out of a perfectly good dream about getting fucked senseless by some weird goo that was apparently made entirely of an aphrodisiac. It was a great dream, but unfortunately that means he's in pain when he wakes up. That, coupled with the fact that he's being woken up in the middle of the night the morning of his day off, leaves him extremely pissed. Snatching the phone, he pauses for the half second needed to check the time and the caller ID; private.

"I don't give a flying fuck if you're the President of the United States," he snarls into the phone, "you better have a damn good reason for waking me up at fucking four o'clock in the fucking morning!"

"Gavin! Thank God... It's me, Richard; I'm sorry, but you're in danger."

"Wh- Avery?" Gavin scowls, pushing up to his elbows. That doesn't make sense; he's been texting Richard on occasion for the past three months because the jackass somehow got a hold of his number and texted him first. So why the private number? And why call? "Phckn... If this is a goddamn prank, Nine..."

"No," Richard cuts in sharply. "This is not a prank, Gavin; you are in danger! I need you to get up, get dressed, and get out of the house. Now."

"Wha-"

"Now! Don't go to the DPD; I don't know who's been compromised... Don't stay with Tina either." He says something indecipherable to someone else with him while Gavin rolls unsteadily into a sitting position. "Hold on; I'm going to give you an address." He murmurs something else and then reads out an address that pops up in Gavin's mental map of the city without trouble. "Did you get that?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I g- I got it, but.."

"Go there," Richard orders. "That's a safe house. There's a burner phone there; don't take anything with you but a change of clothes. Go to the safe house and wait for my call."

"Wh- Nine, seriously, what the hell?" Gavin growls, annoyed and really disliking the edge of panic in the agent's voice. "What the fuck is going on?"

"No time; just get out of the house, now. I'll call as soon as it's safe." He hesitates, and then adds, "Please, Gavin, for my sanity, just go to the safe house. There's food and supplies to last all week if need be; stay inside, keep the doors locked and the windows closed, and don't talk to anyone until I call you."

"...You've got twenty-four hours to call and explain, or I'm going right back home," Gavin says after a moment. "And you can forget whatever buddy-buddy thing you think we have; I'm doing this as a professional courtesy because we both have dangerous lives. But I expect an answer. And soon. Got it?"

"Yes." The relief in Richard's voice is palpable, and it makes Gavin's chest tighten in a way that isn't entirely from fear. "Stay safe, Gavin."

After the line clicks dead, Gavin realises rather abruptly that that was the first time Richard called him by name; it was always Reed, or Detective, depending on the situation. If Richard is so frazzled and out of sorts that he's calling Gavin by his first name, he must really be frantic. Which means Gavin really is in danger. And it can only be related to the one case they worked together, so it must be a revenge thing; someone is lashing out against Richard and Gavin for putting that scuzzball away.

....

Nineteen hours. The man apparently has a thing for the number nine... Gavin's been pacing the little apartment above the club ― an excellent choice of safe houses, actually; the establishment is just seedy enough to disguise the potential comings and goings of whoever needs the safe house ― for most of nineteen hours when the burner phone on the counter rings. He snatches it up without hesitation and answers it, not even bothering to check the ID.

"Avery, I swear to God, you had better have a good explanation for why I'm wasting my day off in an FBI safe house."

"...I'm going to assume," an unfamiliar voice on the other end says blandly, "that was meant for my brother."

"Wha- Who the hell is this?" Gavin demands, ignoring the buildup of anxiety suddenly gripping him with ice cold fingers.

"I am Supervisory Special Agent Erik Avery. I head the department in which my younger brother Richard works."

Oh. Shit.

Brother? Boss?? Worse, why isn't Richard the one making this call?

"Where is he? Is he okay?" The words slip out before Gavin can stop them, and he bites his tongue before he says any more.

Shit shit _shit_!

"...He was shot protecting our little brother Connor. He's alive but currently hospitalised, and demanded that I call you and make sure you were unharmed."

"Did you catch the guy??" Gavin struggles to contain himself; he shouldn't be upset by this, but something inside him is frantic and he can't figure out why.

"No," Erik admits reluctantly. "The shooter is still at large and the danger still present. I understand it was your case that brought Keitel to our attention?"

Keitel, the bastard who raped and murdered Gavin's vic. That isn't a name he'd forget soon, not when that case introduced him to Richard Avery.

"Yeah. Ye- Yes, sir," he stammers, realising somewhat belatedly that this man is way higher up the food chain than he is.

“Agent Avery is fine,” Erik dismisses, and moves on before Gavin can address the fact that he already has an Agent Avery in his brain hole. “Given your experience with this case and the suspects involved, I’ve arranged for you to be flown to DC on a red eye flight in... nine hours.”

Why all the nines??

“Wai- Sorry, hold on a damn minute,” Gavin protests. “I have a job here; I’m about to start another case-”

“I have already been in contact with your chief and made arrangements for your temporary transfer until _this_ case has been closed.”

“What about my stuff?” Gavin asks, trying to adjust and getting stuck on the fact that he’ll be in the same city as Richard and _Richard got fucking shot_ ; dear Christ...

“I’m sending an agent from the Detroit office to pick up your phone, computer, and clothing for a week. Is there anything else you need?”

God, this man is even worse than Richard.

“I, er... I left my badge behind,” Gavin admits, scrubbing a hand over his face and trying to figure out how the hell he got himself into this mess. “Thought I grabbed it with my gun, but I was kinda in a hurry, no thanks to your brother. Sir.”

“Noted. Anything else?”

Gavin can’t think of anything; how sad is it that his entire life can be picked up and moved, just like that?

“No...”

“Good. I’m texting you a picture of Agent Cole Anderson. Do not let anyone into the safe house until he arrives to retrieve you.”

“Wai- wait. Anderson? As in Hank Anderson?” There’s a moment of silence on the line, presumably while Erik checks on something.

“That is correct; Agent Anderson is the son of your Lieutenant. He was transferred to the Detroit branch straight out of Quantico. You’re familiar with him?”

“Vaguely?” Gavin grumbles. Of course he is. But hell if he’s gonna admit it to a practical stranger. “Hank talks about him nonstop.”

“Understandable; Agent Anderson is one of our finest. You’ll be in capable hands until your arrival in DC.”

Oh no doubt. Cole has _very_ capable hands.

....

“Agent Anderson,” Gavin greets coolly when Cole arrives with a duffle bag that he knows came from his closet. The slender young man smiles lightly, striking blue eyes sparkling with hidden amusement, a look that once made Gavin crumble to his every whim.

“Hello, Gavin,” Cole replies, far more warmly than any ex has a right to act. Especially an ex that walked away because Gavin was uncomfortable with his kinks.

Just standing this close to the lion in sheep’s fur makes Gavin’s skin tingle, electric sparks of unease, muted desire, and half-forgotten sorrow crawling up his spine. He still vividly recalls the day Cole left; he wasn’t the first, and he wouldn’t be the last, but he was one of the most impactful.

Cole is by no means rude or cruel, but he is clinical; when something doesn’t work, he does something else. It makes him a fantastic LEO, but a horrible boyfriend; when it became clear that Gavin didn’t like doing the things Cole wanted to do in bed, he simply ended it and moved on.

Damien had fixed Gavin after that. For a while. Until he apparently grew tired of him. Seeing Cole here now is a vicious reminder that Gavin isn’t worth anything, even fixing.

“Thanks,” he mutters, taking his duffle bag and moving aside to let Cole enter the safe house while he checks the bag to see what his ex decided to bring him.

His phone is right on top, and a quick check shows a missed call and three messages, all from Tina, plus a notification that Netflix just released the first season of a show he tagged for updates. Dismissing the Netflix notification, he scrolls through Tina’s messages. She closed a case and got off early and wanted to go for a drink. Six hours ago. After firing off a message that he’s going out of town and he’ll explain later, he checks the rest of the bag.

Surprisingly, Cole packed some of his favourite shirts and two pairs of jeans that look good on him, along with his DPD jacket, in the pocket of which is his forgotten badge. He even stuck Gavin's toiletries in a ziplock and tucked it into the bottom, by his laptop case.

Cole really isn’t mean; Gavin almost feels guilty for hating what he did.

Almost.

“We have four hours until we need to head for the airport,” Cole notes, rounding the apartment to check that all the doors and windows are closed and locked. “Have you gotten any sleep since your wake-up call last night?”

“No.”

“You should try to catch a nap,” Cole smiles. “Unless you’ve vastly changed in the last four years, you’ll never get any sleep on the plane, and once we get to DC, you’re not going to stop moving until you collapse. I’ll have coffee ready for you when you wake up; you still take it black with half a spoon of sugar?”

“...Two spoons,” Gavin admits, partially because it’s the truth and partially because he hates that Cole knows him so well.

“Sweeter tastes, huh?” Cole hums, amused. “Go on; take a nap. I’ll wake you when it’s about time to go.”

Gavin isn’t going to get any sleep with Cole in the next room, but he obediently goes to the bedroom, setting his bag beside the bed and doffing his shirt and shoes. He crawls into the bed and pulls a pillow over his head, but his mind is working far too hard to sleep; he couldn’t turn it off if he tried.

Richard got shot, some perverted sicko is out there looking to kill them both, he's stuck in a safe house with the one ex he never wanted to face again, Richard got shot, the man's brother decided it would be a good idea to bring him all the way to DC, he has to try and find some psycho bastard that even the FBI apparently can't find, Richard got fucking shot, and Gavin keeps coming back to that stupid thought like he can fucking change it!

Why is it even bothering him?? He can't stop thinking about it and hoping the damage isn't too severe. He keeps hoping the burner phone will ring again and when he answers, he'll hear that low, sultry voice croon at him just like in all his guiltiest dreams.

Fucking fuckface...

This, right here, will be the fucking death of him.

He burrows into the bed, trying desperately to sleep and eventually managing a fitful doze of tossing and turning because there is no warm body to press up against, until Cole comes in and flicks on the light. Gavin jolts awake, yanking his gun up because all this shit has him on high alert, and then drops it with a ragged sigh.

"Phckn hell, Cole..." he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face and kicking his way out of the tangled blankets. "What time is it? We leaving?"

"Almost," Cole answers, stepping across the room and coming over to sit beside Gavin. "How are you doing? You seem stressed."

"Ha, yeah, that's one way to put it," Gavin mutters, quickly checking his gun and setting it on the nightstand to cover his face with both hands while he wakes up a little more. "Phckn head hurts..."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Cole asks, touching his shoulder lightly.

Abruptly he realises what Cole's really after, and he lunges away from the man, grabbing his gun and raising it again.

"Fuck off, Cole!" he snarls. "You don't get to be like that! You fucking _left_ me, remember? Just walked out in the middle of it, too! You don't get to be concerned, or want to talk; that privilege ended the moment you closed my door behind you! Those days are done, over, finished; you got that?? I'm not falling for your bullshit again!"

"Gavin, calm down," Cole says gently, raising his hands and standing slowly, the way one would approach a wounded, cornered animal. "I just wanted to help."

"You wanted a fucking booty call is what you wanted!" Gavin snaps. "You can fucking forget it!"

For a long, long moment, neither moves, each staring at the other and expecting them to make the first move. Tension builds thicker than a bridge cable, until Cole finally sighs, shaking his head with a faint smile.

"You're quite a man, Gavin," he chuckles lightly. "You must really have it bad for him."

"What the hell are you talking about, bitchface?"

"You know, I told him about you," Cole says, ignoring the question and tucking his hands in his pockets. "Rich. He taught me some things at Quantico, and at the time, you were still my first and only, so I talked about you a lot. Never any private details, of course, but about your work, and some of your habits. He seemed to find you amusing and asked so many questions about how you worked, what your methods were, even down to what kind of coffee you liked." He chuckles again, more to himself than anything. "I suppose I should have seen this coming when Erik let me know he was going to be the one taking my place on the case that brought down Keitel. I was rather looking forward to working with you on that case."

"Are you fucking drunk on duty?" Gavin demands, lowering his gun but not putting it away. He can't quite wrap his head around what Cole is saying, but he isn't sure he wants to; there's a lot of shit going on his head that he doesn't want to fess up to. Not yet, anyway.

"Of course not," Cole says, frowning. "I guess I just got a little carried away with my thoughts... You've changed quite a bit since we last talked; I still think of you the same as you were back then."

"I'm not the same as I was back then," Gavin growls, finally deeming it safe to put the gun down, but keeping it in easy reach, obviously. Just in case.

"I know, and that's partly my fault. I never apologised for what I said and did," Cole says quietly, dropping his bright gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry; I was a terrible boyfriend."

"Ya think?" Gavin shakes his head; he doesn't want to deal with this bullshit.

Walls up, as usual; don't let anyone close.

"Forget it," he grunts. "Move on; I have."

A lie. Well. Half-truth... But Cole doesn't have to know that.

"Yeah," Cole says softly, glancing up with a light, knowing smile. "I can see that. I'm happy for you, Gavin."

....

"There," Gavin growls, dropping his bag just inside the door of the impressive looking Avery home and whirling around to face Cole. "My stuff's here; now take me to the goddamn hospital already!"

"Gavin, please..." Cole says again, for the umpteenth time.

"I said, take me to the fucking hospital, Cole! How many times do I have to fucking say it??"

"Well, you were right about his pig headedness," a vaguely familiar voice hums, making Gavin tense and whirl, grabbing for his gun even as he recognises the voice and pins it to one of the two men now standing in an archway leading off from the foyer.

The man is tall, incredibly so, and built like a motherfucking model; off black slacks accentuate long slender legs, and a fitted black turtleneck clings to every muscled curve of his torso, pushed up at the sleeves to reveal sinfully detailed forearms lined with colourful tattoos. Sharp blue-green eyes inspect him from behind white-gold bangs that curl away from the otherwise perfect coif of his short platinum blond hair, drawing attention to the idyllic angles of his dominating features.

Under any other circumstances, Gavin would be drooling over him, already begging for a ride. But right now, his gaze hardly skims the man before skipping past him to the barely shorter man beyond, whose dark hair and pale eyes draw Gavin's focus like a magnet to lead.

"Glad to see you haven't lost that sharp tongue of yours, Detective," Richard smiles softly.

"You!" Gavin blurts, letting out everything at once that's been building up since that early morning wake up call. "You're supposed to be in the fucking hospital, motherfucker!"

"Am I?" Richard asks innocently. The taller man ― it can only be Erik ― backhands his stomach chidingly, and Richard swats his hand away, as only brothers do.

"Stop it," Erik scolds.

"Oh, you mean because I was shot?" Richard tugs his button up out of his dark jeans and lifts it, turning to display his side. Two small white squares are taped to his lightly tanned, faintly freckled skin, one just above the jut of his hip bone in front, and one at the corresponding spot in back, which happens to be right between the tiger's bared fangs.

Gavin stares for a moment, almost missing when Richard says something teasingly about making his tiger a fire-breather so he can cover up the bullet wounds, but Erik's derisive snort snaps him back to himself, and he strides across the foyer to land a good, solid punch on Richard's jaw. Immediately, Erik and Cole are holding him back, Erik placing himself bodily between them.

"That was for calling me at four o-fucking-clock in the goddamn morning and scaring the absolute shit out of me!" Gavin shouts, mostly ignoring the other men and glaring at Richard past Erik's shoulder. "The fuck did you get shot in the first place, you fucking useless sack of cockfish?? We worked that case for almost three fucking weeks and you didn't learn fuck all about Keitel and the motherfuckers he ran with??"

"Reed..." Richard begins, stunned and holding his jaw because Gavin absolutely knows how to throw a damn punch.

"Don't you fucking 'Reed' me, you pathetic excuse for a pornstar wannabe! You got fucking _shot_ , and I spent over ten hours stressed to my fucking eyeballs worrying that you were dead and I was next!" Gavin wrenches free of the hands holding him to move back, still glaring at Richard for a moment more. "I'm here to catch whatever fucker shot you and then I'm going home, so don't be playing anymore fucking games; you're a fucking agent of the United States government, for Go-"

Richard suddenly surges forward between Erik and Cole, catching Gavin in the midst of his tirade and before he can think to defend himself. Grabbing the detective, Richard tugs him into a firm hug and draws his head down to his own chest, where his heart thumps steady, comforting.

"I am still alive, Gavin," he says quietly, making Gavin stiffen instead of struggling to get away. "I am grateful for your concern, but I am still alive." He stops, like he was going to say more but thought better of it, and just gives Gavin a quick squeeze before letting him go.

A terse, uneasy silence hangs in the foyer for a moment before Erik clears his throat and steps forward.

"Detective Gavin Reed," he addresses more formally and offers his hand. "Supervisory Special Agent Erik Avery. I'll be the lead on this case until we bring Keitel's associate in."

"Er, yeah," Gavin acknowledges, still a bit thrown by Richard's display as he takes Erik's hand. "I- Sorry for that... er, outburst, sir... I didn't..."

"I understand," Erik waves him off. "Richard will show you to our guest room, where you'll be staying for the interim of the case. And don't worry; we've used this place as a safe house many times in the past, so no one is any danger. We have state-of-the-art security, and equipment for a rotating guard system that we have already activated, as I'm sure you noticed on arrival."

He did; Gavin was rather impressed by the level of security they went through to get here. Is still impressed.

But even one slip somewhere and someone could die, so he's not letting his gun out of arm's reach, just in case.

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks. So, ah... When can I get a look at the case files?" he asks, off-balance and trying to get his usual self back.

"We'll discuss that over dinner tonight, after you've settled in," Erik says with a light smile that looks so much like Richard's that Gavin has to glance at the younger brother and make sure he didn't throw on a wig or something. "Rich?"

"This way, Detective." Richard gestures further into the house, already holding Gavin's bag.

"Gavin," Cole calls after him. He pauses and turns back for a moment, but the sweet, concerned smile he gets makes all kinds of emotions spring up that he doesn't want to deal with: remorse first, irritation, then hate and self-disgust, dismay, regret, and a hint of long buried desire... He forcefully pushes it all down when Cole quietly says, "I'm glad you're okay. Text me sometimes, yeah?"

"Sure," Gavin lies blatantly. Cole's expression tightens minutely, like he can tell Gavin doesn't want to care anymore, but doesn't call him on it. He simply nods, bids everyone farewell, and leaves.

A short moment of uneasy silence follows before Richard gently touches Gavin's arm and guides him into the house, casually explaining that while most of the bedrooms are actually on the second floor, everyone has been moved to the ground floor, so that no one is potentially breaking legs if the need to escape arises. Gavin already feels the need to escape, but not because of any intruders; he just needs a moment away from Richard's perfect presence to be his messed up self.

....

The wafting scent of something cooking gently coaxes Gavin awake, tugs him away from flickers of inexplicable fragments and back to the unyielding hold of reality. He lays in bed for a while, listening to the faint, distant clattering of someone in the kitchen and ignoring the curious twinges of his stomach in mild hunger.

The bed is comfortable. The room is cozy. The windows open to the west, so no sunrise awakenings. Gavin feels remarkably at home already, and it's only been a day and a night. He slept like the dead last night, knowing Richard is alive and well, hardly even damaged.

It's been a long time since he last felt this kind of comfort.

Refusing to look deeper into that feeling, he shoves back the covers and sits up, taking a moment to feel pitiful about the fact that his entire life, minus the deed to his house, is in the bag at his feet. Then he shoves that aside with all the other feelings he doesn't want to feel right now and disappears into the bathroom to get dressed and ready for the day.

Downstairs, as he passes from the dining room into the kitchen, he realises three things at once: the smell that woke him was sauteed vegetables that are now in an omelette, given the scent of cooked eggs; there's soft music playing for the benefit of the one person in the kitchen; and Richard can not only cook, but also sing and dance. Gavin stops in the doorway to watch in baffled amusement while Richard sways gently to the smooth, relaxing 80s tune, singing along softly to _Just the Two of Us_ , his deep, sultry voice far outshining that of Grover Washington, Jr.

Then the song ends, and the familiar, brighter funky beat of Van Halen's _Jump_ starts. Richard chuckles softly and steps away from the stove to a phone on the counter, unlocking it with a tap to change the music.

"Good song, but not this time," he muses to himself, skipping through a couple songs until he lands on _Forget Me Nots_ , by Patrice Rushen. A hum of approval, and he returns to his task. Gavin watches him sing along with the refrain, almost wishing he thought to bring his phone down so he could record this and send it to Tina.

"Fan of the 80s?" he asks finally, almost disappointed when Richard doesn't jolt or startle; the man merely pauses for a moment, head cocked.

"...A guilty pleasure of mine," he answers after a moment, a surprising hint of bashfulness in his expression when he turns and goes back over to the phone to stop the music. It vanishes behind teasing amusement when Richard glances up, brow raised, and asks, "Enjoying the show?"

"So apparently you can sing, dance, cook, and rock your job," Gavin snorts, shaking his head. "Is there anything you _can't_ do?"

"Mm... I can't change a tire," Richard says thoughtfully, turning off the stove and scooping a large omelette onto a plate. "Can't do much of anything with cars. Or electronics."

To that, Gavin can absolutely attest; the man is terrible with computers and phones. It amazed him that Richard could even text and he asked about it several times, only to receive vague replies about having help.

"So, everything but cars and electronics?" Gavin scoffs. "What are you, a Ken doll?"

"Unless I am quite mistaken, Ken dolls don't have cocks," Richard notes, amused. He runs water over the bottom of the pan before flipping and filling it, and then picks up the plate, plucks a fork from a drawer by the sink, and comes toward the door.

"Fair enough," Gavin allows, stepping out of the way, only to have Richard stop in front of him and hold out the plate.

"For you," he smiles lightly. Gavin eyes the fat, fluffy omelette, and gives Richard a wary glance.

"...We are not repeating that morning," he growls in warning. 

"Which morning?" Richard asks innocently. When Gavin crosses his arms with a scowl, he clicks his tongue, barely containing his amusement. "I assure you, Detective, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know damn well what I'm talking about, you insufferable asshole."

"What's the saying?" Richard hums, tugging free one of Gavin's hands and giving him the plate. "You are what you eat? Number five, I believe it was..."

Fire explodes up Gavin's neck and into his face, creeping through the rest of him until he swears he must be crimson head to toe. His tongue, ever barbed with ready comebacks, fails him completely, a feat only Richard has ever seemed capable of accomplishing.

"I suppose you must mean that you intend nine to be the last," the man sighs. "Unfortunate... I was entirely ready to double it." Gavin almost drops the plate, fork screeching across glazed ceramic as it slips and he jolts to prevent a mess.

"Yo- You motherfucker!"

"I should hope not," Richard pokes, enjoying Gavin's reactions. "I would have quite the time explaining to my brothers that my mother is a thirty-five year old male with a foul temper and a cutting tongue."

"You- Fuck you!"

"Ah, so you _are_ amenable to another round, then?"

Gavin opens his mouth, stops, and wisely shuts it again, growling audibly as he turns and leaves the doorway to sit at the dining room table.

"Oh come now; we were just getting to the best part," Richard chuckles, leaning on the door frame. "Don't tell me you aren't interested in a wannabe pornstar." Gavin flips him off, but doesn't say anything. "You really ought to make up your mind, Detective; do you want to have sex with me or not?"

With a loud, exasperated groan, Gavin thumps his head down on the table, and Richard gives a small cackle of enjoyment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter, except possibly a very slight blood/gunshot wound thing at the beginning and some vulgarity later. Next chapter is where we get the smut and trauma~ 

The heady rush of adrenaline is switching fast to a surge of tantalising terror as Gavin drops beside Richard and tears off the vest, ripping the buttons of his shirt to get at the two gushing bullet wounds; the old one at his hip is reopened, and the new one at the juncture of shoulder and neck is looking more dangerous by the second.

"Medic!" Erik roars from somewhere behind. "Thompson, go find a medic! Delgado, go find that motherfucker and make sure he's dead; if not, cuff his ass and drag him back here! And I mean _drag_! Pearson, Senichi, lock this scene down now! Reed, Allen, how are they doing?"

"Damnit! She's not responding, Erik!" a gruff voice snarls from somewhere else behind.

"His other wound reopened," Gavin calls put over his shoulder, a detached sort of calm falling over him as he yanks on Richard's shirt to grab a handful and press it tight to the deep graze at his neck while pushing his other hand down on the hole at the agent's hip.

"Keep pressure, Reed! Allen, do you have a pulse? Allen!"

"...Fuck! No! No pulse!"

"Guess I should've tried to be a pornstar instead," Richard mumbles, dazed and out of it.

"Goddamnit; the hell is wrong with you?" Gavin grinds out, shifting his hand slightly to wrap his thumb around the base of Richard's neck for the leverage he needs to keep the wadded fistful of cloth pressed tight to the wound. "Using yourself as a human shield twice in one week? You had better not being doing this as a cheap excuse to be high as a fucking kite so you can flirt with me again."

"I wasn't high as a kite," Richard says, affronted, his gaze focusing a little more and sliding to meet Gavin's. He's still dazed, but lucid; good. "I didn't even take my meds that morning. I just wanted to flirt with you."

"Sure, Pinocchio," Gavin grunts, trying to pretend the cocktail of adrenaline, fear, and sudden excitement aren't giving him a hard on at the thought of Richard wanting him for any reason. "Shut up now, okay? I've got my hand around your neck."

"Didn't know you had a dom kink," Richard smirks. "Guess it makes sense, all the times you threw me against walls and such."

"You fu- Would you shut up?" Gavin hisses, glancing around. Fortunately, no one is in earshot. Unfortunately that means no one has come to help yet.

"Aw, embarrassed, sweetheart?" Richard teases.

"Fucker, you're about two seconds from being strangled!" Gavin refuses to admit his heart just skipped.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, baby."

"Wish someone would have told me you're an even bolder flirt when you're injured."

"When I'm injured, I have _time_ to flirt; admit it, love, if I wasn't bleeding profusely, you'd have already dragged me behind a car and kissed me, just like number two."

"Okay, first of all, that was an alley, and had nothing to do with a car-"

"But we were shot at."

"-and second, you're insane if you think what we did is ever happening again; I told you already, _not. happening._ "

"You assume I want a repeat," Richard hums, meeting Gavin's gaze evenly. "I don't want to repeat what happened in Detroit... I want to continue it."

Gavin stares blankly at him, taken completely aback, but never gets a chance to respond; Erik drops beside him, panting heavily, and leans in close to check on his brother.

"How are you doing, Rich?" he asks, a faint waver in his otherwise calm voice as he reaches out to brush a small splatter of blood from Richard's cheek.

"Fine," the younger brother smiles lightly. "Wonderful even. Do you see the hot mess sitting on my lap?"

"I can still strangle you, dumbass," Gavin scowls, pointedly ignoring Erik's strained laugh.

"Only you could turn a life and death situation into an opportunity to flirt, Rich," the older brother says, shaking his head and glancing up. "Hurry up with that stretcher! Okay, Reed; the EMTs are going to take over now, alright?"

"Yeah," Gavin breathes, nodding and shifting his weight back on Richard's thighs as two women come in close and rip open packets of gauze.

"Alright, Detective," one says, kneeling by Richard's hip and putting her hand by Gavin's. "On the count of three, I'm going to have you move your hand out of the way so I can pack the wound and tape the gauze in place, then we're going to the same thing at his shoulder, okay?" He nods, and she counts.

Before he knows it, Erik is dragging him back so the EMTs can lift Richard onto the stretcher. He grips Gavin's arm tightly, hand trembling slightly, as they watch Richard get loaded into the back of an ambulance, the other agent who got shot being loaded into the next one.

"Gavin," Erik says as the doors close, his voice strained almost to breaking. "I have to secure the scene..."

"I'll go," Gavin replies without hesitation. He doesn't even think twice. "Text me Connor's number and I'll try to call him on the way."

"Would you call Sheridan too, please? He's Connor's twin; none of us have seen him in a long time, but..."

"Yeah, just... text me the numbers." Erik pats his shoulder in gratitude, takes a breath, and immediately slips back into boss mode, shouting out orders and taking charge while Gavin goes to Richard's car and climbs into the driver's seat. The moment he turns the car on, music filters out of the speakers, turned low, but still audible.

He forgot Richard was playing music from his phone on the ride over for the hell of it, because he's weird, and crazy, and stupid, and sexy, and obviously fucking perfect in every goddamn way. For a moment, while he stares at the ambulances slowly picking their way out of the scene, he just sits there in the realisation that Richard, the dumb fuck, actually wants a whole fucking relationship with him. With _him_!

He shakes his head and puts the car in gear, following the ambulances. Now is not the time to have an existential crisis over dating. Especially considering his past.

His phone buzzes a minute or two later, and he calls the first number... well, first.

"Hello, Agent Connor Avery speaking," a gentle voice answers.

"Uh, hi," Gavin replies hesitantly. "Um... I'm Detective Gavin Reed, and we haven't met yet, but I've been working with your brothers, Richard and Erik."

"Ah, yes; I know who you are. How can I help you, Detective?" He sounds so peaceful; Gavin already hates this.

"Listen, er... Richard..." He hesitates for a moment too long, and he can practically hear the man on the other end freeze.

"...Is my brother alright?" he asks in a small voice that makes Gavin feel even more like crap.

"I- Yeah; I mean, he was shot... again... He took a bullet to the shoulder on a raid this afternoon; I'm on the way to the hospital with him right now." A soft, shaky sigh makes it through the phone.

"Thank you; I'll be there as soon as I can." The line clicks dead and Gavin takes a moment to berate himself for handling that so poorly before moving on to the next number.

"Sixty," a cool voice answers in a raised tone, muted sounds of a party or something muffled in the background.

"I'm looking for Sheridan Avery," Gavin explains succinctly. "Is he there?"

"...Who gave you this number?" the man asks warily.

"I'm calling on behalf of Erik Avery, on a family matter. Can you put him on the phone, please?" It's a struggle to remain so polite; this is why Gavin hates making phone calls.

"What _now_?" the man growls. "Fucker can't even pick up the phone and call himself? You can tell that asswipe that I don't give two shits what-"

"Hey!" Gavin interrupts, glad to have an excuse to cut the bull. "Listen here, motherfucker; I'm only calling you because Erik asked me to. I'd be just as happy to leave you out of the loop if this is how you always act, twink twin, but Richard's in the hospital for the second time this week because the dumb fuck thought being a human shield was a good idea, and Erik wants everyone together! Is it really so big an ask for you to man the fuck up and put aside whatever family drama bullshit you got going on to come and see your fucking brother, ass of spades??"

For a moment, the only response is the pounding of a bass-heavy song in the background, until it suddenly fades to a barely noticeable hum.

"Second time?" Sheridan echoes, tone a little more normal now that he's not shouting over the music.

"That's right," Gavin grunts. "First time was protecting Connor, and the second was protecting me."

"You? And who exactly are you?"

"I'm Detective Gavin Reed, from Detroit; I'm in DC to help your brothers with a follow up on a case I pi-"

"I don't give a flying fuck about that," Sheridan cuts in sharply. "I mean, who exactly are you... to make Rich protect you? That bitch is loyal, but he doesn't trust easily. I would know; I'm the one who made it that way. So who the hell are you to Rich?"

"I... We worked together," Gavin answers vaguely, hoping the embarrassed flush creeping up his neck isn't affecting his voice. "We work together now; we're... partners, I guess."

"Uh huh. How long you been sleeping with him?"

"Wh- Excuse you??" Gavin splutters, heat exploding in his face.

"Cut the crap, Detective Dumbass; the only way my brother would trust someone outside the family enough to take a bullet for them is because he's sleeping with them. And not just a fling either, because he's an incorrigible flirt; you guys must have been dating for a while now. How long have you been together?"

"That's n- Why is this important??" Gavin demands, trying not to let his embarrassment show and knowing full well that he's more obvious than a purple elephant in a tiny room.

"So I know whether or not to bring an anniversary gift along with the get-well card, moron," Sheridan scoffs, amused.

"We're not dating!"

"Uh huh. Better tell _him_ that. When did you meet?"

"Fuck this shit! Richard's at Sibley Memorial Hospital; come or don't come, that's on you. I did what I was supposed to." Gavin hangs up to the sound of cackling laughter on the other end.

Good God, the Avery brothers are going to be the death of him.

....

Richard keeps staring moodily at the doctors and nurses hanging around his room, and Gavin reluctantly admits to himself that it's mildly endearing how pouty he can be when things don't go his way; he was stitched up twenty minutes ago, but the doctor wants him on fluids for a while before discharging him.

Apparently it's the same doc who was on duty the last time Richard was shot, and she’s not exactly happy with him for coming back with new holes.

"You got something against hospitals?" Gavin asks during a long moment when no one else is in the tiny room.

"Besides the fact that I can't seem to stay away from them?" Richard scoffs.

"Dude, Nine; chill out, man," Gavin retorts, rolling his eyes. "Give it an hour; you'll have enough fluids to take out the IV, you'll get your discharge papers, and there you go: back home we go."

"Home we go?" Richard echoes, cocking a brow at the detective leaning up against the wall. Gavin frowns, not liking that look of amusement and... hope?

"What?" he growls warily.

"You think of my place as home?" Now Gavin gets it, and he scowls at the agent.

"You know what I mean, dumbass; don't put words in my mouth."

"Who is putting words in mouths?" A tall, slender young man with dark curls hanging in dark eyes steps in, and for a moment, Gavin stares.

He could be Richard's doppelganger, but for the darker eyes and softer features; he doesn't quite have the muscle bulk that Richard does either, but otherwise it's like looking at a duplicate.

"Reed thinks I'm putting words in his mouth," Richard hums with a smile.

"Ah," the doppelganger smiles softly, and holds out a hand to Gavin. "Nice to meet you finally, Detective. I'm Connor, the second youngest."

"Uh, right! Yeah, sorry; nice to meet you too," Gavin stammers, still taken aback.

"He didn't stutter when he met me," Richard pouts, sulking and earning himself a scathing look from the detective.

"Fuck off, Barbie; nobody told me I'd be meeting your doppelganger!"

"You should see Sheridan," Richard smirks.

"My twin," Connor explains helpfully, rolling his eyes at his older brother. "We really do look like twins; identical."

"Well fuck," Gavin sighs heavily. "Really hope you two wear different clothes then, because he'll be here sooner or later; Erik had me call you both."

"And he's actually coming?" Connor's brows raise in surprise and Gavin frowns.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Sheridan hates Erik," Richard explains, far more serious now. "Hates us all, to some extent... Mother wanted us all to go into law, and we did, but not the way she wanted, and once it was clear Connor was following the same footsteps, she turned her attention to Sheridan, all but forcing him to go to Harvard and become a lawyer. He despised it, but did it anyway, until she died of a complication after a stroke. Then he quit and vanished. None of us have really heard much from him since. How did you even get a hold of him?"

"Erik gave me his number," Gavin shrugs. "I just called it and he answered. Bit of a jackass, you ask me."

"No surprise," Connor grimaces, stepping past Gavin for a chair in the corner and pulling it around to sit beside the upright bed. "Given everything he's been through, I'd be more than a little concerned if he _didn't_ harbour any grudges."

"I'll believe that, but I'm not changing my opinion of him."

"Good, because my opinion of you hasn't changed either," a familiarly cool voice interjects. A man identical in looks to Connor but practically opposite in style is leaning on the wall by the curtain, hard brown gaze currently fixed on Gavin.

"Jackass," Gavin grunts.

"Dickhead," Sheridan retorts easily. Then he glances at Richard. "You look pretty alive to me. Your boyfriend made it sound like you were dying."

"I'm not-! Fucking forget it," Gavin growls, crossing his arms and glaring at the monitor hooked up to Richard's pressure cuff and O2 reader.

"Somehow, I doubt that," Richard muses lightly, eyeing the youngest of his brothers. "But thank you for coming regardless."

"You really jump in front of a bullet?"

"Twice."

"Once for Con, once for your boy toy."

"Yes."

"You're even more stupid than the last time I saw you in person," Sheridan scoffs. "What's Erik doing, working you to death on the dummy cases?"

"Erik does his job, Sheridan," Connor chides softly.

"It's Sixty," Sheridan snaps, a manic sort of fire lighting in his eyes. "And Erik is a controlling bastard who takes after Mom!" Gavin stiffens, ready to intervene, but Sheridan ― Sixty ― doesn't continue. In fact, he seems to reel himself back in with a deep breath, working his jaw for a moment as he lets it out. "I asked around with my CIs and dirty contacts; you're being hella irritating to some big names, and what happened today is sunshine and daisies compared to the shit you'll face if you keep going the way you're going. Ease up for a week or two, follow some leads I'll feed you, and be a little more careful with your digging in the future."

"We weren't digging," Gavin growls, unable to stop himself as he steps across the tiny room to get in Sixty's face. "Keitel raped and murdered five women in the Detroit area, and we tracked him down and put him away for it. Everything else has been initiated by those fuckers. If you really want to _help_ us... _Sixty_... then put those CIs to good use and get us some info we can use to go on the offensive instead of trying to hold off their retaliation. Or just go back to your parties and body mods and watch your brothers get riddled full of bullet holes until they finally die, one by one. Bet that would make you real happy, wouldn't it, you soggy bag of limp dicks? Finally get rid of the assholes who made mommy dearest so pissed off she took out everything on you."

"Pretty yappy for a lapdog," Sixty hisses, but there's a spark of interest in his expression. "Pretty much glass too; you're just a walking cliche, aren't you, Detective Fuckface? Lemme guess: daddy didn't love you, so you did everything you could to impress him and somehow it got so ingrained in your thick skull that even now you keep trying to prove you're worth daddy's love. And every time you hear how much of a disappointment you are, it just fuels the fire inside you to do more, but you're too macho to show how much you care, so you put up walls of insults, right? Can't let anybody too close, or you'll forget what your goal in life is, won't you?"

Gavin glares, but secretly, he kinda likes that he's finally met someone so like himself; Tina's the only other person who's ever been able to dish out as much as she takes from him, but she had a good life, so she doesn't understand the way Sixty seems to.

"Bold words from a mommy's boy," he retorts, enjoying the banter. "And you've got no room to talk about cliches when you're tatted up to the neck with all those fancy piercings and shit. Got a Prince Albert too?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, slut."

"Since you already believe I'm dating Nine, I'm just gonna have to assume you've got some kind of sick brother complex, the way you're flirting with me."

"Suck my dick, pretty boy."

"Are you deaf or just stupid?" Gavin scoffs. Sixty's gaze narrows, but this time he doesn't respond, and Gavin suddenly realises Richard and Connor are staring at them in amazement.

"...I think," Connor says in quiet awe, "that's the first time I've ever seen him truly speechless."

"How does it feel to have a friend on your level, Sheri?" Richard asks, brow cocked in a mixture of amusement and pride. The latter grows when he catches Gavin's eye, and the detective promptly flushed hot with giddy embarrassment. He clears his throat and tamps it down quickly, hoping the blush doesn't show.

"Two words, Rich," Sixty growls, flipping him off "Fuck you."

"Sorry, but I'm not really into brother con." Humphing, Sixty pulls a small box out of his pocket and tosses it at Richard, who snatches it out of the air with a graceful swing, like a cat batting at a fly.

"Hurry up and get healed," Sixty says blandly. "I'll call or text tomorrow, depending on my schedule. Con... As much as I hate Erik, take his example, not Richard's." Connor smiles and stands to hug his twin, who stiffens, but manages an awkward hug in return. Then he clears his throat and steps back, pushing Connor to arm's length, and gives Gavin a wary look.

"I'm not hugging you," the detective huffs. Sixty scoffs, but the corner of his lips twitch up.

"Six," he says plainly. At Gavin's frown, he cups himself, making his meaning a little more clear. "That's where the name comes from. See you 'round, Fuckface." And then he's gone, leaving Gavin slackjawed.

"... _Six_ dick piercings??"

"He always could stand up to pain better than the rest of us," Richard hums, shrugging and casually opening the box to dump a wolf ring onto his palm with a slight smile. "I'm not really surprised."

"... _SIX??_ "

....

Gavin falls into bed with a heavy groan, body aching from the abuse of chasing down three perps in as many hours and getting beat up, knocked over, hit by a parked car, thrown off a first floor balcony, shot twice in the chest with his vest on, and oh yeah, he jumped out of a moving vehicle today.

"You okay?" The concern softens the edge of his irritation and he sighs loudly, grimacing as he rolls onto his back.

"I gotta hand it to Six," he grumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. "When he comes through, he _really_ comes through... Can't say I enjoy the resulting pain, though. Is this as bad as your bullet holes?"

"Probably not in individual comparison, but likely worse altogether. You're no doubt in more overall pain than I am."

"Phckn assholes..."

"Take a shower; you'll feel better."

"Nine?" Richard doesn't answer, but Gavin still feels his presence, and after a moment, he sits up, running a hand through his hair while he works up the nerve to say what's been on his mind for the past week since Richard got out of the hospital. "What am I doing here?"

"...In my home?" Richard frowns, leaning against the door frame in anticipation of a longer conversation.

"In DC," Gavin clarifies absently. "Just... here. I don't belong here; I'm not cut out for this shit. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy it; it's like some weird ass dream come true, but... I'm just a detective; I don't have the training for everything that's going on here, and I know there's stuff you and Erik are keeping from me, for security or whatever, but I'm not... I can't do like, _anything._ I'm outclassed, out of the loop, out of my league, just... _out_. So why am I here?"

For a moment, Richard doesn't say anything, eyeing Gavin thoughtfully, expression passive. Then he sighs softly and pushes away from the door frame to move across the room and sit beside the detective.

"Five or six years ago, we brought in one of the best and brightest from New York; top of his class out of the academy, highest marks, climbing the ranks faster than anyone in recent history; on track to become chief eventually. He was uniquely qualified to help with a case that had been blocking us up for almost two years, because he had a talent for reading between the lines and profiling criminals. Erik wasn't my boss then, but he was the one who found the guy in the first place, and he thought this kid would have a good shot at joining the BAU if he performed well on this case. So we took him on and tested him out. He folded in less than a week; too much stress and not enough to go on." Richard looks at Gavin, taking him in. "In your place, he was far more qualified, and had a lot more going for him than you do, and he failed. You haven't. He didn't have your tenacity or instincts, and you are much more talented than you give yourself credit for, Gavin."

"Tell that to Anderson and Fowler," he chuffs in response, trying not to let show how proud the praise makes him. Richard smiles lightly.

"To be fair to your superiors, your temperament and stubbornness leave something to be desired," he points out, popping the bubble of delight in Gavin's chest and leaving him a bit deflated. "But that said, I think you have potential. A lot of potential. Perhaps enough to join the Bureau; you may feel rather overwhelmed right now, but if you help us close this case, it won't be overlooked should you apply at Quantico."

Gavin considers that thought for a moment, and really he's flattered by the idea that he could be good enough to become an agent himself... but there's a niggling sense of disappointment that refuses to be ignored.

"So that's why I'm here?" he asks quietly, hands folded between his knees. "To test my skills and see if I have what it takes to become an agent like you?"

"Yes," Richard answers slowly. Then he reaches over and gently touches Gavin's arm, sliding his fingers down the inside of his wrist to pull his hand up. "And because I want you here." He presses a soft kiss to the back of Gavin's hand, but he's tense, anxious; he's waiting for Gavin to reject him again.

"...For fuck's sake," Gavin grumbles after a startled pause. "I give up."

Before Richard can ask what he means, the detective crushes their mouths together in a messy, unexpected kiss. Richard lets out a low moan and pushes into the kiss, teeth clacking, tongues questing for dominance... Neither can very well breathe under the assault of tongue, teeth and lips clashing in a wet battle for each to prove to the other that neither is willing to deny his feelings any longer. Gavin turns his hand as he twists to face the perfect man beside him, lacing their fingers together and using that grip along with a hand behind Richard's neck to pull him closer, leaning back toward the headboard. Richard follows eagerly, pushing Gavin down on the bed and shifting to straddle his hips.

"Well then," a low voice interrupts, startling them both. Gavin half panics when he recognises Erik's voice, freezing with sudden embarrassment and shame at being caught at all, much less by Richard's brother. But Erik doesn't chide them or anything; he leans in to grab the doorknob. "Now I know why you were so insistent... Maybe close the door before you start rutting like rabbits?"

"Thought you had an exhibitionist kink," Richard smirks, pointedly grinding his hips into Gavin's to elicit a hiss. A cold twist of actual panic burns in Gavin's gut at the words, however, and abruptly he's back in Damien's homeshare, protesting when one of the housemates walked in on them and teasingly asked to join. Damien had actually been considering it, and in retrospect, that should have been one of the biggest red flags, but Gavin was infatuated and ignored it, making clingy demands instead.

Is Richard like that? Would he want to share their time together? Gavin can't say, but already he's regretting giving way to the man's advances.

"I do," Erik scoffs in response to Richard's taunt, "but I also know how jealous you get, and I am definitely not a masochist, so I would rather not have to give a blood sacrifice to get off when I can just as easily visit the nearest strip club."

"Good, because I would rather not have to kill my favourite brother," Richard grins, still watching Erik as he leans down to touch a light kiss to Gavin's lips.

"That, I know is a lie; Connor is your favourite brother. And apparently Reed is your favourite person, so I am going to close this door for you and then go visit the nearest strip club. You're welcome."

Relief floods Gavin's veins as the door clicks closed, a cool, soothing balm to his jagged fears. He can't help the small sigh that escapes him, and Richard immediately kisses him properly.

"I'm sorry about that," the agent purrs against his lips. "It was the most efficient way to make him leave completely; now there is no one to hear you, and I can make you moan as loud as I like." The husky note of promise turns the pit of ice in Gavin's stomach to a spark of fire, and he shudders with lusty need.

"Can't really call you Nine anymore if we do this," he murmurs, chasing Richard's tongue with his own.

"Why not?" the agent hums, nipping at his lip and pressing their linked hands into the bed so he can tug Gavin's shirt up and slide his long fingers over functional abs and up to sensitive nipples.

"Ah! Th- this is... ten..." Gavin gasps, rocking his hips up in a vain quest for friction against the aching cock contained painfully by the zipper of his jeans. All of the other aches and pains of his body fade away under the assault of hot desire sweeping through him.

"Mm. But this one is different," Richard says, a hopeful note in his voice. "Isn't it?"

There's a deeper question there, and for a moment, both go still, barely breathing, each searching the gaze of the other, looking for the answer to the question neither of them wants to put into words.

Gavin shouldn't do this. He knows that. He knows if he does this, then all of his hard work for the past three, almost four, years will be for nothing. If he lets himself have this, he could very well end up in the same place he was when Damien left him. Worse even, because he's been out of the game for so long.

But Richard is... different. Better. Not a moment has gone by since the night he got blackout drunk that he hasn't felt like the man genuinely cares. Richard simply _is_ genuine; when he's angry or frustrated, he withdraws and turns away the world, and when he's happy or teasing, that smile always returns. When he's content, it radiates off him and affects everyone around him. Everything he does, he does completely, puts his all into it. Gavin couldn't ask for a better boyfriend.

Which is exactly why he's hesitant. It's all too good to be true; what are the odds that after all the shit he's been through in relationships, after all of the time he's spent building up walls and keeping people away, that suddenly the perfect man shows up and wants _him_ , of all people?

What are the odds, indeed...

If Gavin wants this, he's going to have to fight to keep it. Fight like he's never fought before; if asking his boyfriend to respect his boundaries is what pushed them all away in the first place, then it's time to get rid of the boundaries. He's going to fight... by not fighting at all; if Richard wants something, he'll get it. Every. Last. Wish.

"Yes," he whispers finally, steeling his resolve. "We're not continuing... This is new. This is you and me. Us."

"Us," Richard echoes, relaxing and smiling warmly. "So keep calling me Nine; nine times to win you over."

"Nine times to break down my stupid walls," Gavin scoffs, sliding his hand to Richard's ― Nine's ― jaw.

"I don't think they're stupid," Nine hums, nuzzling against his palm. "They kept you alone for me."

"Yeah..." Gavin doesn't correct him; he doesn't need to know. "Kiss me, Nine."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a warning for detailed sex, but y'all should really expect that from me by now. XD

"You're taking too long," Gavin growls desperately, canting back against Nine's fingers and dropping his head to his arms. "Did it take this long the first time?"

"To be completely honest, I'm not entirely sure," Nine says sheepishly, leaning over him to press an apologetic kiss between his shoulder blades and twisting his fingers to nudge against the button of nerves that sends a burst of fire through Gavin at every brush, which of course makes him shiver and gasp. "I was attempting not to lay my hands on you, but after I carried you to bed, you came out to me, already prepared and begging. I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry..."

"Phckn figures..." Gavin mutters into his arms. "Shouldn't have gotten shit faced that night... Would've been nice to at least remember my dumbass decisions."

"I, for one, am grateful you did," Nine admits, giving his ear a playful nip before moving back and withdrawing his fingers. Gavin glances over his shoulder in time to see Nine roll a condom over his impressive length and shift closer, taking his hip in one hand and using the other to guide his wrapped cock to the gaping, needy hole before him. "Without that night, I would never have had a chance to win your heart along with the rest of you. I would never have gotten this chance to claim you."

The first stretch of Gavin's rim around the swollen head of Nine's dick draws a loud, shuddering groan from the detective, and he drops his head to his arms again, focusing on relaxing to welcome the intrusion.

Christ, it's been too long!

Most of his recent one-night stands and flings have seen Gavin topping, simply because he didn't want to put himself in so compromising a position after everything he'd been through; he can count on one hand the number of times he's bottomed since Damien, and all of them were out of desperation because his dildo just wasn't cutting it.

"Ohh, fuck... Fuck, Nine, fuck; it's good," he adds quickly when the movement stops. "It's so good, Nine; fuck, it's so good... Keep going." Another loud moan falls from his lips as Nine obliges, slowly inching in until he bottoms out inside Gavin, hips fitting snugly against his ass, balls caressing his perineum, thighs plastered to the back of his legs, hands gliding up his sides and over his shoulders, fingers tracing his arms to lace with his, chiselled abdomen pressing firmly to his back...

"You're so good for me, Gavin," Nine whispers breathlessly in his ear, kissing the space behind it. "Perfect match for me, sweetheart. So perfect..."

Another groan rolls up from deep inside Gavin, a shiver trilling across his skin, and he's not sure if it's from the pain-tinged bliss of fullness, the warmth of knowing whose body holds him, or the spark of something familiar yet foreign in his chest at the endearment. Perhaps all three?

"Sweetheart?" he manages, trying to pass off the unknown emotion as amusement.

"You don't like?" Nine hums, rolling his hips ever so slightly so that the angle changes and the stretch intensifies, making Gavin gasp and jolt, which in turn changes the angle again. He lets out a low whine, forcing himself to stay still.

"It's okay," he puffs, quivering with need and desperate not to let himself get overstimulated. "Call me whatever you want." Nine tenses slightly, but his fingers tighten around Gavin's and he buries his nose in Gavin's neck. Without a word, he shifts his hips back, pulling out an inch or two, and rocks forward, pushing Gavin bodily forward with the force of the movement.

Every thrust seems better than the last, more filling, more satisfying, and Gavin can't hold back his voice, crying out with every stroke. He drags one hand free and fumbles for something else to hold, first reaching back and digging his fingertips into the geometric tiger on Nine's thigh before moving up to his hip, but that's not enough. Then Nine places an open mouth kiss to his neck and he knows; he brings his hand back up and cards his fingers into Nine's hair, tugging lightly to bring him in for a real kiss.

Soft lips, sharp teeth... the sweetest taste of _Nine_ pervading his mouth... He groans into the kiss, scratching at Nine's scalp for more; he damn near orgasms when he's rewarded with a downright tongue-fucking.

None of their hasty makeout sessions or blowjobs were nearly this intense, and Gavin tries to chalk it up to being fucked for real this time, but really, he knows there's more, and he can only try to ignore it.

Their tongues are still tangled when Nine shudders and rocks forward hard, seating himself almost painfully inside Gavin, who gives an awkward cry in response. It allows Nine to break free and pepper his lips, cheek, jaw, neck with feather light kisses.

"Gavin... Oh my Gavin... sweet, precious Gavin..." he breathes, thrusting shallow and angled perfectly to hit his prostate with every stroke.

Not that he needed to; the tender openness of his name on repeat like some life-saving mantra sends a burst of fire through Gavin, igniting the explosion of blinding white-hot bliss that starts deep in his gut and sweeps him away completely.

No one has ever been so gentle, so... loving. Not one of his past boyfriends ever said his name like this, in the throes of passion. Most of them used stupid pet names, like 'baby' or 'sexy.' Only Cole ever used his actual name, but in command, not because he simply liked saying it; not like Nine.

The explosive orgasm leaves Gavin weak and tired, and only Nine's body against his keeps him from collapsing face down into the mess he made on the sheets.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Nine murmurs against his ear, making his shiver.

"Better than okay," Gavin manages hoarsely. "Best fucking orgasm I've had in years."

Nine giggles ― actually fucking _giggles_ ― and loses his apparently precarious balance over Gavin, his weight bearing the detective to the bed. His mirth is contagious though, and Gavin can't help chuckling with him, which only serves to make him burst into full bodied laughter as he rolls off Gavin, and soon they're both laughing hard enough to make their sides hurt.

"What the hell is wrong with us?" Gavin grins into his pillow, unbothered by the smear of cum across his chest and stomach.

"You started it!" Nine points out, shoving lightly at his shoulder. "Fucking orgasm..." He dissolves into giggles again, and Gavin's grin broadens as he watches the man try hard, and completely fail, to get control of himself.

"You have a really high-pitched laugh, you know that?" Gavin hums, content to lay there and stare at the stunning profile of the man beside him. Nine gives him a narrow look that is utterly destroyed by his smile.

"Oh believe me, I am more than aware," he scoffs, reaching over to toy with a curl of dark hair dangling in Gavin's face. "All three of my brothers gave me all nine levels of hell for it when we were kids. Why do you think I stifle my laughter so often?"

"Honest? Didn't even notice," Gavin admits, tracing the webwork of lines on his forearm. It’s the first time he’s really seen it up close, the delicate little coral snake wound around a clock set to noon or midnight on the inside and coiled below a fancy compass rose on the outside.

"Good," Nine smiles warmly. "That means I've succeeded in keeping it hidden."

“But not now,” Gavin notes, a hint of questioning in his voice. Nine snuggles closer, smile broadening, and leans in to kiss the tip of his nose.

“Not now,” he agrees. “I don’t have anything to hide from you.”

“Nothing?” Gavin cocks a brow. Nine snorts.

“Well of course there are _some_ secrets I must keep,” he says blandly. “I do have a job that requires it. But truly, unless I believe it will harm you, I will answer truthfully any questions you might have, ever; now or in the future.”

“So, if I ask about past relationships...”

“Yes, I have dated in the past,” Nine chuckles, fingers tracing Gavin’s hairline down to his neck. “I think... two boyfriends, one girlfriend, and a fair number of flings. We won’t discuss one-night stands.”

“Only one girlfriend? As good looking as you are, that seems really...”

“Prudish?” Gavin cocks his brow again, in an entirely different expression, and Nine smirks. “To be fair, they were long relationships. I am loyal; I do not cheat, and I have never been the one to end a relationship, save the one time I managed to get involved with a rather fanatical stalker. You see? No secrets.”

“Uh huh. We’ll see.” Gavin caresses Nine’s face lightly and then pushes himself up, peeling the sticky sheets from his skin. “I need another shower, thanks to you... Would you throw these sheets in the wash and bring more in? I’ll make the bed when I get out of the shower.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nine hums pleasantly. “I’ll take care of it; just enjoy your shower. And imagine me in there with you.” He winks playfully when Gavin gives him a dark look, and it does nothing to ease the newly stoked fire in the detective’s gut.

....

A persistent buzzing pulls Gavin from deep, contented slumber, and he wakes further when Nine half releases him to reach back and snatch his phone from the bedside table. Gavin rolls over into him and wraps an arm around his waist as he swipes the answer button.

"Hey, Con," he answers in a surprisingly alert tone. Gavin doesn't hear the response, but he does feel Nine stiffen, and pries open an eye to glance at him. "No... Not since last night; he left to give me and Gavin privacy." Must be about Erik. "Yes; we-" Nine breaks off, and his breathing changes, his entire demeanor becoming stiffer, more uneasy and anxious. Gavin rubs soothing circles on his hip. "I don't know; I'm still technically on medical leave until tomorrow. He should be at the office by now." While listening to the reply, he looks at Gavin and manages a weak smile, bringing his other hand up to brush his fingers through Gavin's hair. "Are you sure? You know he likes to get right to business; if he found a lead last night..." He frowns at the ceiling, and Gavin shifts, pushing up to his elbow and watching Nine with concern. "Okay, Connor... Connor, calm down; maybe he's on a stakeout or something and turned off his phone." He pauses briefly and scowls. "You aren't helping... If you think like that, you'll drown in panic. Call Penelope and see if she can trace his phone, and then meet me at his favourite night club; that's where he said he was going." A few more seconds, and his expression softens with fraternal love. "I will. You too; I'm the only one who gets to visit the hospital for stupid injuries. I love you." Ending the call and dropping his phone onto his chest, he sighs and presses his hand to his face, rubbing down and over his mouth, expression distant with concern.

"Erik?" Gavin prompts, sliding his hand lightly up Nine's side and past the phone to the centre of his chest.

"Yeah," he says softly, sounding a little lost. "He didn't come home last night, but that's hardly unusual; he's a workaholic. He could easily have had his fun at the club, and then gone straight back to work; he never drinks, even socially, so he wouldn't have been incapacitated. But Connor said he wasn't at the office, and no one we work with has seen him since he left on the last raid with you."

"So maybe, like you said, he found a lead or something," Gavin says, trying not to sound dismissive in his attempt to assure the man. Nine's phone buzzes again as he adds, "For all we know he could have gotten himself a hotel room so he didn't have to be in the house with you making me scream." A small, genuine smile quirks at Nine's lips, but vanishes the moment he sees the caller ID.

"Erik," he answers immediately, sitting up. Gavin sits up with him, leaning against his side and touching a comforting kiss to his shoulder. "Where are you? Why didn't you come home last night?" Nine switches his phone to the other side and lays his hand gratefully on Gavin’s thigh under the blanket. Then he inadvertently squeezes, paling. Immediately, he drops the phone from his ear and taps the speaker button.

“-should I call you Agent Richard instead,” a low, faintly accented and completely unfamiliar voice is saying, “seeing as there is another Agent Avery sitting in front of me. Say hello, pretty boy.”

“Don’t listen to him, Rich-!” Erik’s voice is cut off by a cracking sound and an accidental, half-stifled yelp, which makes Nine flinch drastically, almost dropping his phone. Gavin grabs it, wrapping his arm around Nine’s shoulder and leaning his forehead against the man’s temple.

“Calm down, Nine,” he whispers, a gentle note to his voice that he most certainly does not feel; whoever this bastard is, he messed with the wrong people. “Calm down; deal with this professionally... Don’t let him gain even an inch.”

A difficult task with the horrific sounds of flesh on flesh beatings coming over the phone with visceral clarity. Nine shudders, swallowing hard.

“Kamski,” he says in a strong, level voice that doesn’t match his appearance.

“Ding ding!” the accented voice croons. “Give the boy a prize! Yes, I have your brother, and I must say, after all the trouble you boys have given me, I’m rather disappointed at how easily my men lured him into my clutches. Tsk, tsk... Anything to say for yourself, Special Agent?”

Spitting, and then another vicious collision of flesh. Nine jolts again, jaw and eyes clenched shut and fingers digging into Gavin’s thigh. The detective kisses his temple encouragingly, but the quiet stretches as Nine struggles to formulate a response.

It takes Gavin only a moment to recall what little Nine and Erik have shared with him about Elijah Kamski, the head of group Keitel was presumed to work for: simply put, a literal genius with a god complex and a penchant for peacocking.

“Seems a little low for someone like you to get your hands dirty,” he speaks up, making Nine stiffen. The agent’s gaze flicks up to his in horror, but Gavin just meets it and continues. “Why bother with one agent yourself when you could just have one of your grunts mail back the pieces?” Nine cringes and looks away, and Gavin squeezes his shoulders apologetically.

“Oh my, is that the little lapdog I hear?” Kamski hums.

“Gavin, don’t let Rich do anything stu-!” Erik shouts distantly from the background, cut off presumably by yet another blow, though this one goes unheard, thankfully.

“Hush, pretty boy; I’m talking,” Kamski says lightly. “Now, remind me ― Detective Reed, correct? ― was it not your scarred little nose that poked into my business in the first place, all the way out in Detroit, Michigan? And you just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? Had to be the hero?”

“Fuck being a hero,” Gavin growls before he can stop himself. “That asshole raped and murdered girls, and you thought I’d let that slide? He deserved everything he got and worse. You’re lucky someone was there to stop me or you wouldn’t even recognise the fucker.”

“Mm, so fiesty,” Kamski notes, sounding mildly amused. “I can see why these boys like you. I almost regret the plans I had to get you out of the way; I think you’d make an excellent addition to my new team.”

“If this is the part where you try to buy me, no fucking thanks. Take your money and shove it up your ass like the twisted motherfucker you are.”

“Such language, though,” the criminal tuts. “Hm, where was I before you distracted me? Oh, yes... You see, I had big plans for the three of you ― four, rather; that adorable younger brother of yours has been just as pesky. But with all the trouble you boys have put me through, including the disruption of a rather lucrative deal, if I do say so myself, I’ve had to rethink my approach.” Nine stiffens again, anticipating the sound of his brother’s death, and Gavin is at a loss as to how he can stop this. Kamski, oblivious to their silent distress, or else wordlessly savouring it, continues blithely on. “So here is what’s going to happen... If you want to see your beloved big brother again, tomorrow at five-thirty pm, the three of you ― Connor, Richard and Gavin ― will come alone and unarmed to the address I will provide momentarily. You will drive the silver 2018 Toyota Corolla parked two blocks south of the nearest Starbucks to your office; the keys are under the front passenger side floor mat. If you try to strap yourselves up with wires or panic buttons or tracking devices or whatnot, I will be very unhappy. Do you understand?”

Nine covers his nose and mouth, forcefully stifling a sob, and it damn near destroys Gavin to see him falling apart so easily when all he’s ever seen is the calm, level-headed, perfection-incarnate version of him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gavin snaps, hating the crime lord more every second. “Just give us the address already.” He bites back another insult, fearing what Kamski will do in retaliation and not wanting to make Nine suffer any more than he already is.

“I look forward to our meeting,” Kamski practically purrs after relaying the necessary information. “Kisses!”

Gavin almost throws the phone away in disgust as the connection ends, and instantly plasters himself to Nine, pulling him in close as he trembles.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay, Nine,” he promises, hoping it really will. “We’ll get him back, alive, and we’ll take this bastard down in the process.”

If Nine was going to respond, he doesn't get the chance; the phone buzzes again, and Gavin snatches it up, half expecting to see Erik's name because the fucker wants to dick with them some more. Instead, it just says 'Con.'

"Connor?"

"Gavin! You're with Rich?" Connor sounds hopeful and eager, and Gavin's chest tightens as he realises the man doesn't know yet. "Penelope, our team tech, managed to get a signal from Erik's phone because he just used it. Did he call Rich? Is he okay? Where did he go?"

"...Connor, listen..." Gavin begins slowly, avoiding Nine's gaze for a moment to figure out how to say this.

"...Gavin...? Gavin, plea- Please tell me Erik is okay," Connor whispers, hope turning to unease.

"He's... alive," Gavin hedges before realising that's a terrible way to start. Connor stays silent, so he takes the opportunity to quickly explain. "Kamski got him, last night; lured him out somehow. He just called us using Erik's phone. We're supposed to go meet him tomorrow, the three of us, unarmed, no one else."

For a long moment, Connor stays quiet, and Gavin glances at Nine, who's fallen into a sort of shock, despair written into the edges of his expression but not completely overwhelmed yet. The distant, haunted look in Nine's eyes pierces Gavin's chest straight through with red hot hatred for the man responsible, and burns like dull embers because he can't do anything to help.

What a fucked up way to start a relationship...

"Gavin?" Connor says finally, a sharp, cold edge to his voice that startles the detective.

"Uh, y- yeah?"

"Take care of Rich for me," he says coolly, determined. "I've got something I need to do, and then I'll be by to talk about our next move. Don't let anyone else in, don't talk to anyone, call anyone; don't do anything until I get there except taking care of Richard. Do you hear me?"

"I- yeah, no, I hear you; definitely," Gavin answers, awed and a little taken aback by the shift in personality. Or maybe not so much shift as just uncovering; Connor has always seemed remarkably put together and more friendly and gentle than his brothers, but of course the sweetest ones are always the ones you never want to piss off.

"Good. I'll be there in an hour or less."

....

"Nine?" He pushes Gavin back down on the bed, hand firm on his shoulder.

"Stay," the agent says shortly, making Gavin's gut twist uneasily with reminders of Cole's commands. He swallows them down and nods, repeating over and over to himself that he won't deny this man anything.

Nine returns a few moments later, still naked, with his handcuffs and a... black cloth?

"Lay down," he orders, kneeling on the edge of the bed. Perplexed and anxious, but still fighting back his past, Gavin obeys, shifting onto the bed and laying down on his back. Nine takes his hand and clicks the handcuffs around his wrist, attaching the other end to the bed frame above Gavin's head.

"Nine, you better not be locking me up so you can go after that asshole," he warns, suddenly afraid that Nine has gone completely overboard.

"No," the man answers simply. "I don't want to think about it. I want to forget everything for a minute."

There's a hollow helplessness in his words that tears at Gavin's heart, and he reaches out with his free hand to cup Nine's jaw.

"...Okay. Whatever you want; take it out on me." Nine twitches, but leans into Gavin's touch and moves across to straddle his hips. He shifts to lay the black cloth ― a sleep mask ― over Gavin's eyes, tying the straps behind his head, and brushes a light kiss over his lips.

Gavin flinches reactively at the unexpected drag of nails across his chest; the darkness isn't comfortable, but it does enhance sensation. The nail marks sting in a pleasant, almost erotic way, and he shivers lightly.

"You have so many scars..." Nine says softly, warm breath ghosting over one such scar on Gavin's chest. He twitches, reaching blindly for Nine's hair, only to have his hand grabbed and pinned to the bed while Nine nips sharply at the scar. Then comes a more purposeful bite to Gavin's nipple. The resulting hiss blends into a soft moan at the feeling of Nine's tongue and teeth tugging at the bud, suckling harshly to raise a bruise.

The treatment is repeated on the other side, so that both nipples are erect, swollen, sensitive nubs that twinge at the faintest brush of air. Nine even blows on them to test that fact, making Gavin gasp and squirm.

Another nip, on his collarbone. A glide of flesh against flesh, and another nip on his hipbone. A suckled bruise on his inner thigh, and a matching bite on the other; Gavin can’t help a small cry, and realises when Nine breathes a soft moan against his leg that the man has a sadistic streak, a legitimate, get-off-on-causing-pain sort of sadistic streak.

The realisation prompts a small spike of fear, drudges up forcefully buried memories of the worst of his exes: Kieran. Of all his past boyfriends, Kieran is the only one he fears, the only one he regrets even trying to date. The man was a sadist in the worst way; took pleasure in hearing his partner actually cry. He raped Gavin far too many times before Gavin realised that pressuring and blackmailing someone into sex was as much rape as forcing oneself onto them, and when Gavin said he was done, packed up his shit and tried to leave, the bastard beat him enough to leave him in the hospital for weeks. Worse, Kieran got off on it, literally; multiple times, in fact. It almost turned Gavin off to sex entirely, but his libido and drive were far too high for that, and he was lucky enough to have Cole there to pick up the pieces and make a semi-cohesive whole again.

Cole really isn’t a bad guy, and the positive he did for Gavin was more than enough to balance out the negative. The negative just happened to be enough, and perfectly timed, to ruin their relationship. It’s the only reason Gavin can’t bring himself to truly dislike the man.

Not like Kieran. God, he hates Kieran...

And he can’t get the bastard out of his head as Nine leaves a trail of kisses and nibbles up his inner thigh. Fortunately, his free hand is now... well, free, and he can grab Nine’s hair, intending to stop him and beg him not to be sadistic in any capacity, but then Nine’s tongue curls around the head of his dick, and for a split second he forgets that he was supposed to protest.

Nine _worships_ him; tongue, teeth, lips singing against sensitive skin a praise of devotion and adoration. Gavin can barely breathe under the baptism of fire burning him, smothering him; without his sight, every touch is doubled, tripled, _quadrupled_ in intensity, ripping him apart in blissful agony and leaving him unable to think beyond the recognition of sensation.

He yanks harshly on Nine’s hair without meaning to, and the resulting groan vibrates through his cock, lighting up every nerve and creating a spark that jolts his hips without any sort of conscious thought. The first jerk births a need, and he thrusts up, but Nine doesn’t pull away; he shifts and pushes down, throat opening to take him deeper. Gavin shudders under the new wave of desperation and keeps thrusting. Nine chokes, gag reflex activating, but still he doesn’t pull away, except for a fraction of a second to drag in a hasty breath through his nose, lips never leaving Gavin’s flesh. He pumps down on Gavin’s next thrust, swallowing him down completely, and claws viciously at his hips and thighs; the tight constriction of the narrow tunnel around him rips a ferocious orgasm from Gavin, bathing him in an ecstasy so bright and sharp that it actually hurts, tearing through him in a flood of overstimulation like he’s never felt before.

He lets out a ragged scream, arching and yanking harshly against the cuff around his wrist, and then collapses, limp and half-conscious in the surprisingly pleasant afterglow.

How, in all of the rough trysts they’ve shared before, fighting for dominance, has he never gotten this much out of a blowjob before?

“Gavin...” Nine rasps, his desperate pleading cutting through the haze. Gavin quickly untangles his fingers from Nine’s hair and shoves the mask off his face. His breath catches at the sight that awaits him; Nine stares up at him needily with half-lidded pale eyes, lips parted and tongue resting on his teeth, slick with cum trailing down his chin in a thoroughly debauched expression that banishes all thought except _KISS_.

“Come here,” he growls hoarsely, grabbing the back of Nine’s neck and dragging him up for a hot, messy kiss. Gavin can taste himself on Nine’s tongue, on his lips; can’t bring himself to care. He chases the taste, sucking and nibbling at Nine’s chin, lips, tongue; delving deep into his mouth and searching every crevice, demanding more, more, _more_...

“Gav...” Nine gasps, breathing harsh and fast. “Gav, sweetheart, please...” Gavin shudders at the desperation in his lover’s voice, bites at his lips with a growl.

“Fuck my mouth, baby; I want to taste you for days.”

Nine hesitates only long enough for another passionate kiss before crawling up and presenting Gavin with the stiff, reddened, weeping rod that demands attention. Gavin doesn't hesitate at all; he grabs the base and leans up, tapping the head lightly against his tongue before scraping his teeth gently over heated flesh and sucking sloppily at the base, letting his saliva collect and drip free, exchanging the fluid of his mouth for the fluid leaking down the length of Nine's cock.

"Gavin!" Nine pleads, hips bucking forward. The detective glances up as he glides his lips back up to the tip, leaving a wet trail from the base up that he smears appropriately with his hand.

Nine has one hand braced on the wall, the other fisted against his mouth, and a wanton look of bliss on his face that Gavin has only seen hinted at during past trysts. He already wants to see more.

"Come on, babe," he says, flicking his tongue over the slit and savouring the salted bead of precum that meets him. "Fuck my mouth."

Nine drops his hand to Gavin's jaw, tugging at it to open his mouth wide enough to take the tip. Gavin works his way forward eagerly, practically lunging onto his lover's cock, until he can't take anymore because of the position and angle. He wraps his hand around the sac hanging inches from his chin, squeezing gently, and is rewarded with a tremulous, lusty groan.

"Gavin..." Nine gasps, moving his hand to stroke sweat soaked strands back from Gavin's face. The detective moans in response, pressing his teeth against hard heat and scraping back.

Apparently it’s too much for Nine, because the agent yelps and snatches at Gavin’s hair, yanking him forward and thrusting hard against his mouth. Gavin almost inhales the first splatter of warmth against the back of his throat, practically choking in his effort _not_ to without pulling back entirely.

Nine is the one who withdraws, cursing softly.

“Fuck,” he pants again when the last spurt paints Gavin’s face with a stripe of white. He shifts back quickly, cupping Gavin’s face in his hands and gently swiping at the stripe with a thumb. “Oh, Gavin, I’m sorry; I didn’t...”

“It’s fi-ne,” Gavin coughs, grabbing his wrist to stop him. “I did it-it to you.”

“Not this bad,” Nine scoffs, a small smile tugging at his lips as he settles on Gavin’s hips and braces a hand on the pillow to lean over and trace the line with his tongue. “I must admit, however... Seeing you painted in my cum? I adore it.”

“Got a little bit of a cumslut in you?” Gavin smirks, quirking a brow at him.

“Maybe just a little,” Nine admits, smiling much more broadly now and pressing a soft, languid kiss to Gavin’s mouth.

“You taste better than me,” Gavin says bluntly when he breaks. “I’m jealous.”

Nine laughs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, bitches; we're in for a long one!
> 
> CW: past trauma and abuse, and a panic attack as a result. If you're sensitive to any of that, don't read the epilogue; it ends well enough at the end of the chapter.

It's a silent drive in the unfamiliar Corolla, Nine at the wheel. None of them want to talk, even if there was something worth talking about; each is too busy preparing himself for the possibility of death. If not his own, then someone's.

"Is this really gonna work?" Gavin asks softly when they pull up to the airport hanger at the address they were given. It's a little apart from the others, enough to hide screams or gunshots, and Gavin rubs absently at the bruise on his chest where he was shot in the vest yesterday. Nine catches his hand and pulls it away from his chest, bringing it to his own lips for a soft kiss.

"It'll work," he promises. "Con isn't the sort to let this fail. Are you, little brother?"

"Mm. Let's go." Connor hasn't spoken much at all since he got home last night and immediately began planning.

It's still strange to see the unusual flip of Nine being the soft, gentle one while Connor is the aloof, sharp one.

"Is he always like this when shit gets crazy?" Gavin asks when Connor closes the door hard behind him.

"Yes and no," Nine hedges. "He's... generally more cautious. But it is our big brother in there."

"More cautious," Gavin grumbles, unease growing. "Great. Good to know he's diving in headfirst... Thought that was my thing."

"Relax, Gavin," Nine assures, tugging him closer for a quick kiss on the cheek. "We'll be okay." Then he's out of the car and Gavin has no choice but to follow, muttering that they're all gonna die.

"Welcome, my dears!" an entirely too cheerful voice greets them as they enter the comparatively empty hanger, bare but for a giant ass amphibious plane and some mechanic stuff along the walls.

Oh yeah, and the psycho-maniac flanked by a pair of bodyguards and standing next to Erik, who has been half-stripped and hung up by chains around his wrists. He's not conscious ― no surprise given the amount of damage done to him ― but the short ragged breaths and occasional twitches say he's still alive, thankfully.

"I'm almost disappointed you came so easily," Elijah continues, tapping his jaw like some metrosexual freak. Gavin looks forward to getting back so he can bleach the man's style from his mind.

"Yeah yeah, shut the fuck up," he cuts in, scowling. "Just tell us what the fuck you want so we can take big bro and leave."

"Now now, Detective," Elijah chides, smirking in amusement. "Curb your impatience. Surely you understand that you have willingly, and foolishly, placed yourselves at my mercy; I could easily kill all four of you and simply be done with you. There would be no evidence left to connect me to your deaths, and I would be free to get back to my business."

"So why haven't you?" Nine asks shortly. Connor casts an uneasy glance at him, and Gavin struggles not to react; he knew they'd be acting their usual selves, but knowing it and seeing it are two very different things.

"Because I have far more to gain from keeping you alive than from killing you and dumping your bodies where no one is likely to find you."

"Like what, dipshit?" Gavin scoffs. Might as well test how far that desire goes.

"...You can't really be as stupid as you sound," Elijah frowns.

"Maybe," Gavin retorts bluntly. "Maybe not. Either way, it's just part of my charm."

"You're about as charming as a skunk," the mob boss says dryly, seeming to regret his decision to make all three of them come meet him.

"You know they actually make really cute pets if you get the glands removed," Gavin snarks back with a brittle, taunting grin.

"You're testing my patience, Detective," Elijah says coldly now, making the bodyguards shift and reach for their guns.

"You want us to be informants," Nine speaks up before Gavin can run his mouth again.

"Ah! There _is_ a brain between the three of you," Elijah chuckles, rubbing his hands together delightedly.

"And if we say no?" Nine returns; he looks stoic, unaffected, but Gavin can see now the subtle signs of his distress: the twitch of his jaw, the subtle curling of his fingers toward fists, the faint tension in his shoulders...

"Well," Elijah purrs, "I had no trouble luring your brother out here the first time; I have access to places and resources you can only imagine, my friends. So! Do we have a deal?"

"What exactly are we agreeing to?" Connor pipes up finally, sounding timid and anxious.

"Nothing outrageous," Elijah assures, as if the very idea is absurd. "Do me a favour now and then, and in return, I will allow you to live as usual."

"And if we say no?" Gavin asks bluntly.

"... Here's a little incentive," Elijah answers coolly, raising a hand and snapping his fingers loudly.

Gavin stops breathing for a moment when Sixty strides casually into view, going over to Elijah's side and leaning on his shoulder with a bored expression on his face.

"You know, I'm not a lapdog," he sighs.

"But you are my bitch," Elijah smirks, not looking away from the trio across from him; he's enjoying himself, drinking in their shock and betrayal.

"Sure," Sixty shrugs, too lazy to contradict him.

"You see how far my power already extends?" Elijah hums, pleased. "Either you accept my terms, or you accept death. Your choice."

"You say it like we actually have a choice," Gavin growls, glaring at Sixty, who stares back in bland annoyance.

"And here I thought you of all people considered death an option," Sixty hums, cocking his head. "What with all your scars and your history."

"You don't know shit about me, _bitch_."

"Sure I do," Sixty scoffs, lips finally twisting in a smirk that fits his features far better than boredom. "You'd be amazed at how much you can learn by asking the right people the right questions... How's Cole, by the way? And, what was it... David? Damien?" Gavin bites the side of his tongue hard, focusing on the physical pain so he doesn't break down; not here, where Nine and Connor are counting on him to hold it together.

"The fuck should I know?" he returns, hating this banter as much as he enjoyed it the last time they talked.

"What about Kieran?" Ice floods Gavin's veins, and it's only through superhuman effort that he doesn't react beyond a slight flinch. Sixty's smirk grows. "I hear he's been asking about you; I forgot your number, otherwise I would have passed it along."

"Guess I got my answer on who the evil twin is," Gavin says shortly, gaze narrowing.

"You're only just now figuring that out?" Sixty snickers. Gavin opens his mouth to retort, but Elijah cuts in.

"As much as I'm enjoying the show, darling," he purrs, reaching up to chuck Sixty's jaw in a fond motion that makes Gavin sick, "I asked a question. Are you in... or dead?"

"In," Nine answers before Gavin can say a word.

"Rich, hold on," Connor protests. "We can't just..."

"Family first, Con," Nine says stiffly, hand twitching like he wants to reach for Gavin's, but stopping himself before he does.

“Delightful!” Elijah croons, beaming. He snaps his fingers again and one of the guards moves to Erik, fussing with the chains while Elijah goes on. “The first thing I need you to do for me, in return for letting you leave intact, is to withdraw the investigation into my ties with Keitel. He’s no longer of use to me anyway.”

“Speaking of...” Sixty pipes up suddenly, making Elijah pause in surprise. “Things no longer being useful, I mean...” The cattiest, sliest grin curls over his lips as he casts a glance at Connor, who smirks back. “As fun as this has been, I have all the information I need.”

Shocked rage flashes over Elijah’s expression and he dives to get out of the way, a moment too late; just as he moves, Sixty kicks at his ankles, tripping him straight into the other guard with a highly undignified squawk. The gun that guard was raising is knocked from his hand and Connor, who was already moving, lunges for it while Nine slams into Gavin’s side, knocking him to the concrete floor at the same second the other guard manages to fumble his own gun up and fire wildly in their direction.

“Move!” Nine snaps, barely audible over the echoing pops of the cover fire Connor lays down for them.

Sixty, somehow having gotten his hands on a piece of rebar, slams it down on Guard #2’s wrist, which cracks audibly between gunshots as Elijah and Guard #1, now in cover behind a huge rolling tool cabinet, exchange fire with Connor ― where the guard got another gun, Gavin doesn't care, as long as he doesn't see any more. Guard #2’s gun clatters to the floor and Sixty kicks it toward Nine, who dives forward to get it, ducking back to the wall out of the line of fire, where Gavin crouches with his hands over his ears.

The rebar pierces the guard’s chest before he can react any further, a sloppy stab that Sixty uses to manoeuvre the man around, blocking any shots that might come his way; he headbutts the shrieking guard to silence and drops down, using the unfortunate guard to shield himself and Erik, who lays still on the concrete.

After an adrenaline-fueled eternity (hardly twenty seconds), the gunfire ceases, and a short, terse silence follows, broken only by the gurgling death rattle of the rebar-pierced guard.

“You really played me for a fool, Six,” Elijah calls out, breathless.

“I did, didn’t I?” Connor chuckles coldly, not moving from behind the pontoon of the plane's landing gear, where he took cover. Gavin frowns, glancing at Nines, who keeps his gaze and gun trained on the tool cabinet, just _waiting_ for an opportunity. “Lemme tell you, dipshit, holding my tongue long enough to pass for Connor was hands down the hardest fucking thing I’ve done in my life. You’re lucky I’m a shit shot; if Con had this gun, you’d be dead already.”

Gavin can almost _touch_ the utter bafflement radiating from the tool cabinet, because he feels the same, but all it takes is a few quick glances between the twins to get it; ‘Connor,’ behind the pontoon, has a sharpness to his gaze that Gavin had assumed was part of the odd new angle to the man’s personality, and ‘Sixty,’ who jammed the rebar into a crack in the concrete to keep the guard upright and shielding him, is tending to Erik’s injuries with the tenderness Gavin is more familiar with being part of Connor’s nature.

The twins switched places. Probably before ‘Connor’ even returned to the Avery house last night.

“Wha- Why did they...?” Gavin stammers, perplexed.

“Connor knows what to look for,” is all the answer he receives, Nine’s low voice carrying in the quiet.

“You bastards...” Elijah says, awed. “You raided my computer, didn’t you?”

“Acquired evidence,” the twin behind the pontoon ― Sixty, Gavin understands now ― corrects with a grin. “And since I was your best kept secret, no judge will ever believe that I had anything to do with you. As far as any jury is concerned, I’ll just be returning to the court for the first time in months to make sure the guy who attacked my family goes away for a long time. Congratulations, Kamski, you fucked yourself.”

“And you, on numerous occasions,” Elijah snarls venomously. “You think I don’t record every second of what goes on in my bedroom? And I keep those files elsewhere; one phone call and everyone will see that you’ve been in bed with me, literally and figuratively.”

“You mean the CCTV tapes you keep at your Lincoln Avenue safehouse?” Connor hums casually, tossing away a bunch of chains. “Pity I saw the place burning down on my way here... Such a shame. I’m sure Detective Reed can tell you of the dangers of smoking; you really shouldn’t have left your cigarettes unattended.”

Gavin can’t even bring himself to be stunned that Connor knows about the apartment fire one of his flings caused several years ago from being too careless with a cigarette cherry; he’s too busy stifling his glee at the stunned, enraged silence that follows Connor’s statement.

“Man,” he chuckles, settling back against the wall and grinning up at Nine. “I gotta say, I was not expecting any of this. Perks of having a twin with one foot in the underbelly, huh?”

“And you haven’t even met my CIs,” Sixty snickers. “I should be annoyed that you didn’t give me enough credit, but really, I’m gonna enjoy rubbing your nose in it for years to come, Fuckface.” Gavin barks a mirthful cackle at that, and Nine casts a pleased glance at him.

It’s the wrong moment to look away; in the instant that Nine’s attention leaves the tool cabinet, an infuriated Elijah pops out, taking aim at Gavin, who spots the danger at the same instant that Sixty fires, missing entirely. Nine, seeing the look on Gavin’s face and hearing the shot, looks back immediately, but in the split second he needs to readjust his aim, Elijah fires, shifting at the last instant.

Nine’s shoulder jolts back, skewing his aim and sending his bullet ricocheting from a steel ceiling beam to chip concrete from the wall behind Connor, who ducks instinctively.

“Nine!” Gavin bellows, shoving away from the wall and catching the agent as he falls back with a strangled cry of pain. Sixty fires again, the bullet pinging off the tool cabinet and sending Elijah back behind cover.

“Damnit!” Nine grits out, pressing a hand to his new hole.

“Nine; fuck...” Gavin cradles him for a second before a need for revenge floods hot through his veins; he snatches the gun from Nine, quickly and gently lowering him to the floor, and leaps to his feet, darting at the cabinet.

“Reed, no!” Connor shouts, too late. Sixty stops shooting with loud curse, and Elijah peeks out, eyes widening when he sees Gavin practically on top of him. He doesn’t get a chance to shoot before Gavin slams into the cabinet and sends it toppling over, but he does manage to dive out of the way, leaving his bodyguard to get trapped under the large metal cabinet filled with heavy tools.

Without missing a beat, Gavin rolls over the cabinet and lands in a neat crouch with the gun aimed squarely between Elijah’s eyes. The mob boss freezes, halfway to his hands and knees, his gun hand still on the floor and unusable at this angle.

“Give me a fucking reason!” Gavin snaps viciously, eyes ablaze with hate and rage. “I fucking dare you!”

Knowing he’s lost, Elijah lifts his finger from the trigger and ever so cautiously shifts his weight to slowly push the gun away. Then, gaze trained on the barrel of death, he pushes carefully to his knees and raises his hands behind his head.

A moment later, Connor is there, grabbing Elijah’s wrists and tugging them none too gently down and behind his back to cuff him.

Gavin isn’t even gonna ask where he was hiding the cuffs.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Connor says shortly. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have a right to an attorney; if you cannot afford one, the court will provide you with one. Do you understand these rights as they’ve been stated?”

“Yes,” Elijah spits, still glaring at the gun.

“Good,” Connor snips, “because I look forward to seeing Sheri absolutely wreck you in court.”

Elijah’s gaze finally shifts away with a wince as Connor hauls him roughly to his feet, and Gavin drops the gun, lunging back toward Nine, where Sixty is already putting pressure on his wound.

“Fucking hell, Nine,” he gasps, kneeling across from Sixty and grabbing his lover’s hand. “You’re a goddamn bullet magnet!”

“I will never apologise for taking a bullet for you,” Nine chuckles, grimacing slightly.

“Don’t take it in the first place, dipshit!” Gavin retorts, but he can’t help grinning with the relief that Nine isn’t critically injured, especially when a quick check shows that none of the other wounds reopened this time.

“What he said,” Sixty snorts, smirking lightly as he presses a little more firmly. “Y-”

“NO!” All three of them look up at Connor’s shout, just as a shot rings out. Sixty snaps backward, collapsing to the concrete, and Gavin’s gaze flicks to the tool cabinet, where the bodyguard has half-dragged himself out from under it and has his gun up. Immediately Gavin dives across Nine for Sixty’s gun, a bullet cracking against the wall where his head just was, and he scoops it up, taking aim and firing as the opposing gun swings around to bear on him.

Gavin stares death down the barrel of the gun, and his heart leaps to his throat, but both guns click empty, and for a split second, utter silence swallows up the stunned disbelief from both surviving parties.

“You useless shithead!” Elijah screeches suddenly, startling everyone. He thrashes in Connor’s grip, almost breaking free before Connor recovers and yanks him back toward the door again. “You’re dead! All of you! Just you fucking wait!”

He keeps ranting even after he’s out of the hanger, and Gavin scowls as he hurries across to where he left the other two guns, snatching them up and casting a warning glare at the pinned guard, who meekly slides his empty gun away and tucks his hands behind his head in surrender. Ignoring him entirely now, Gavin goes back to the brothers.

“He’s alive,” Nine says past gritted teeth, leaning over his youngest brother with his fingers pressed to the unconscious man’s neck. “I think he hit his head when he fell.”

“Fucking hell,” Gavin breathes, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead for a moment. “All of you goddamn Averys need to stop fucking getting hurt.”

“This is the life we live, Gavin,” Nine sighs, lowering himself onto his back with a low groan. “You know that better than most.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Gavin scoffs. “In fact, as soon as I get back to Detroit, I’m gonna pay Cole a visit for an application, because obviously you dumb fucks need someone to keep your asses out of trouble.” Nine chuckles.

“I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart.”

....

Oh how delightful it is to watch the gavel fall, solidifying the fate of one Elijah Kamski with the maximum sentence Sixty could seduce out of the jury: double life in a supermax in Louisiana. Even Elijah looks rather despairing of his situation as the court LEOs haul him off, and Gavin feels a smug sort of satisfaction in the fact that he helped bring down not only a major crime boss, but one of the FBI's most wanted. Maybe there is something to Nine's assurance that Gavin would make an excellent agent.

If he wants to try for it, however, he'll have to get in quick, because according to the research he did in the waiting room of the hospital while the Averys were having their injuries tended to, he'll be disqualified by age alone pretty soon.

Then again, given his comments in the ambulance on the ride over ― "Haha! Sixty, Nine; get it?" ― and the face he made at Sixty's response ― "You're such a dweeb, Fuckface..." ― if the FBI want agents with a mental age similar to their chronological age, Gavin isn't even qualified in the first place.

But hey, might as well try, right?

"You're lucky that bullet was a through-and-through," he says to Sixty as he goes up to hand the young lawyer his arm brace. "Next time I'll see if I can make it worse."

"Worse??" Sixty gives him a horrified look. " _Next time???_ "

"Mmhm." Gavin holds up the papers Cole gave him right before he flew back to DC for the end of the trial. "Care to guess what these are, pillow princess?"

"First of all," Sixty says blandly, finishing packing up his things into his briefcase and snapping it closed with his good arm. "'Pillow princess' is not an insult to me. Second―" he shoves the briefcase at Gavin, almost scattering the papers and making him scramble to keep them and not drop the case. "If you really join the FBI, you're as stupid as the mule headed ass I took you for from day one."

"When did I ever disagree?" Gavin grins at him, making him smirk in response and roll his eyes. They both chuckle as they leave the courtroom.

"Detour to the hospital before we go home," Sixty says, referring to the Avery house, where he's been staying for the duration of the trial, and where Nine is currently convalescing.

"Still in pain?" Gavin asks, grimacing in sympathy.

"Yeah right," Sixty scoffs. "I don't even need the brace but until the doctor okays it, both my jobs are requiring me to wear it whenever I can. Not for me; gonna stop in and see Erik before I disappear again."

"Really," Gavin states in disbelief, brows raising.

"Connor made me promise," Sixty huffs defensively, but the way his gaze drops away belies his words.

"Uh huh," Gavin hums, opening the passenger side door of his rental for Sixty and then dropping the case on his lap once he's seated. “You could just admit that you really do care about him; I wouldn’t tell anyone, and even if I did, not like anyone would believe me.”

He closes the door before Sixty can respond, whistling as he rounds to the driver’s side and climbs in. Sixty doesn’t say anything, to Gavin’s surprise, and he doesn’t push.

“...It was my fault,” Sixty says finally, when the hospital is in sight.

“What was?”

“Erik.” Gavin glances over, but Sixty keeps his gaze on the scenery outside. From his vantage, Gavin can only see that he isn’t wearing his usual smirk; without seeing his eyes, Gavin can’t be sure whether he truly feels guilty, or if he just doesn’t know what to say.

“What do you mean?”

“Kamski would never have known that Erik frequents that club if I hadn’t let myself get caught up in his weird ass kinks...” Sixty shakes his head, gaze falling to his hands, and another glance from Gavin makes him look up, genuine sorrow and remorse in his dark gaze. “I made the mistake of saying that I’m pretty sure I’ve seen everything if my own brother gets off on watching strippers dance. I didn’t even realise what I’d done until I got a call from him saying he needed a favour and told me to meet him at the hanger. Then Connor called and I... Everything sank in. It’s my fault Kamski got his hands on Erik, my fault he’s in a coma, and if he never wakes up again, it’ll be my fault he dies.”

“Whoa, hey...” Gavin begins, glad he just parked.

“I _do_ hate him, with a fiery passion,” Sixty barrels on. “But I also love him, and I can’t- He’s my brother; they’re all my brothers, and I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt any of them. I can’t- It’s my fault...”

“Hey... Come on, stop that,” Gavin says awkwardly, reaching across to grab Sixty’s hand and stopping short when he realises the man probably doesn’t like being touched like that any more than he does; he grips Sixty’s forearm for a moment instead. “Listen, you made a mistake. That’s it. End of story. Everyone makes mistakes. That doesn’t mean what happened after that is your fault. You didn’t even know what that fucker was doing. So you messed up. Okay. Now you move on and try to make up for it.”

“But what if Erik-”

“No,” Gavin butts in sharply. “No ‘what ifs,’ no ‘buts,’ no nothing. You may spend the rest of your pitiful life making up for it, but what matters is that you try. You hear me, Sheridan?”

Sixty jolts slightly, gaze flicking to Gavin’s, who holds it without faltering. A slow, lopsided smile curves gently over Sixty’s lips, and he reaches across with his good hand to smack Gavin’s thigh.

“That’s for using my deadname,” he says in his usual chirp. “Come on, Fuckface; I wanna get this over with and go home for a nice hot shower. I swear, just being in the same room dredged up every nasty ass memory of Kamski’s most disturbing kinks and I am fully disgusted.”

Gavin grins as he follows Sixty into the hospital, assured that everything will be okay with the youngest Avery. As a bonus, the eldest Avery is awake when they enter the room, and by the relieved look on his face when he sees Sixty, Gavin knows for a fact that everything will be okay.

EPILOGUE

Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but if so, it’s one in a long line of coincidences, and Gavin can’t really say he doesn’t like them; nine months after the hanger incident ― probably the most cursed of the incidences of ‘nine,’ in Gavin’s professional opinion ― Gavin steps off the stage as a freshly graduated FBI agent and all but throws himself into Nine’s waiting arms with a victorious hoot that gets lost in all the cheering of family and friends for over 200 graduates.

“Congratulations!” Nine laughs, lips pressed to Gavin’s ear as they settle into a tight embrace.

“Almost thought you wouldn’t make it,” Gavin returns, voice raised to be heard over the noise.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world; flew back as soon as I could, came straight here with only a momentary detour to pick up a present for you.”

“A present, eh?” Gavin grins, sliding one hand down toward the curve of Nine’s ass. “I hope it’s a bow for your dick because I’m hungry for something I haven’t tasted in far too long.”

“You act like we haven’t fucked in months,” Nine chuckles, pulling his hand back to platonic territory but also nibbling on Gavin’s earlobe and shifting just so to press his thigh against the growing bulge between Gavin’s legs.

“Phone sex doesn’t count!” Gavin hisses, stiffening at the jolt of pleasure and desire that shocks up his spine.

“And the hotel room the night you got accepted into the academy?” Nine purrs, pulling away, which draws a disappointed grunt from the shorter man.

“That was quick enough to shame a damn club fuck,” Gavin growls, irritable and desperate from the teasing.

It really has been too damn long; for Gavin’s last week in DC ― prior to a quick visit at the end of the trial ― Nine was confined to the hospital by a cranky doctor who was fed up with seeing him again and again immediately after coming off medical leaves, which left no opportunities for anything beyond a quick handjob between the nurses’ rounds, and then Gavin had to return to Detroit, which meant they were restricted to sexting.

There was a single night at the end of the trial that Gavin stayed overnight at the Avery’s before heading back to Detroit again, but with Nine still in a recovery phase, they had to limit themselves to the most vanilla sex Gavin has ever had.

After his (slightly more permanent) return to Detroit, they started calling each other every so often between cases or whenever one desperately needed to hear the voice of the other, and eventually that morphed into phone sex, which only just barely managed to tide them over until the day Gavin got a letter in the mail detailing his acceptance to the FBI Academy in Quantico; Nine hopped the next flight to Detroit and surprised Gavin just as he was leaving work, taking him out for a fancy dinner and a quick tryst in a hotel before Nine had to catch a red eye to get back in time for work the next morning. After that, Gavin was too busy with training, and Nines had two rough cases back to back, which restricted all sexual activity entirely due to exhaustion and limited them to short phone calls here and there that amounted to little more than ‘hey, love you, good night.’

This is the first time they’ve been together, in person, with no prior commitments to get in the way any time soon, and Gavin isn’t about to waste anymore time.

“Can you wait just a few more minutes?” Nine asks, suddenly serious though still smiling broadly as he tugs lightly at Gavin’s suit, straightening his tie and tapping a finger to his lips when he opens them to protest. The senior agent nods subtly over his shoulder. “I think some other people would like the opportunity to congratulate you.”

Before Gavin can ask, he follows the man’s gaze to see Tina elbowing a path through the crowd toward them, Cole, Hank, Fowler and Chris following right behind the tiny Asian firestorm.

“Look at you!” Tina squeals, jumping on Gavin and giving him a fierce hug that momentarily leaves him breathless. “You rock the suit, dude, but lose the tie; too fancy for that epic scar.”

“Watch it, T,” he grins, tweaking her nose when she pulls back. “I outrank you even more than I did before.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Cole chuckles, offering a hand instead of a hug, to Gavin’s relief. “You’ll get sick of that badge halfway through your first case.”

“Not likely,” Gavin scoffs, taking his hand but releasing it as quickly as he can without looking impolite.

“You’re gonna come back and visit sometimes, right?” Chris asks, holding out his own hand. “Not gonna lie, it’ll be pretty quiet without you loudmouthing somebody everyday.”

“I still got a house up there,” Gavin laughs, pulling him into a quick half hug. “Gotta come back _some_ times. At least until it sells, and by then maybe you’ll all be weaned off my obnoxious behaviour.”

“Obnoxious is an understatement,” Fowler huffs, nodding respectfully but keeping his hands to himself. “I definitely won’t miss putting up with your impertinence. But... Your stubborn ass is perfectly suited to this job. Good luck, Gavin.”

“Thanks,” Gavin grins, genuinely delighted by the compliment.

Hank clears his throat and shifts closer, holding out a green-and-blue wrapped present about the size and shape as a book, but the moment Gavin takes it, he knows it’s not a book; a picture frame?

“Ben wanted to come, but caught a case last minute,” Hank explains awkwardly, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. “He, uh... convinced us all to get together for this, and got the frame himself.”

Curious, Gavin quickly tears off the paper, revealing a lovely black polished wood frame outlining an impromptu group photo in the middle of the bullpen at the DPD, with practically everyone included, many of them in civilian clothes as they were clearly off-duty. All of them hold out thumbs up or peace signs toward the camera, and Ben’s familiar script in the corner of the picture claims well-wishes from everyone at the precinct.

It actually makes Gavin choke up a little, but hell if he’ll say anything about it.

“Thanks, Hank,” he says instead.

“You did good, kid,” Hank says, sincere for the first time in a long time. Gavin swears he isn’t tearing up, and anyone who says he is, is lying. “You did good.”

....

The familiar caress of the soft bed in the guest room of the Avery house ― Gavin’s room, for now ― is a welcome embrace as the two of them collapse into it, the jerking motion breaking apart their passionate endeavour to devour one another. Gavin fumbles to get his clothes off, and Nine helps, but promptly uses his shirt to bind his wrists; he wastes no time in dragging Gavin’s pants off his hips, but leaves them pooled around Gavin’s ankles, and when the former cop goes to kick them off, Nine sits on his legs, stopping him.

“Phckn... Nine, plea- please...” he gasps, trembling with both need to feel his lover’s skin, and mild anxiety at the idea of being tied up.

“Hush, sweetheart,” Nine hums breathlessly, mouthing at the corner of Gavin’s lips and rocking his still-clothed erection against Gavin’s. “I’ve got you; relax and let me take care of everything.” Forcing down the lump of unease in his throat, Gavin nods and tries to relax as Nine slides down his body and off the bed to kneel between his legs.

Tingles of electric desire thrill across Gavin’s skin at the soft press of wet warmth against his inner thigh, followed by the scraping of teeth over skin that turns into a nibble. He can hardly breath as the gentle mouth moves slowly upward, progressively hardening to something rough and demanding; a harsh suck at the juncture of thigh and groin to force a bruise brings a strangled sound somewhere between a gasp and a groan to Gavin’s lips, and his head is spinning long before Nine swallows him, suddenly and completely.

“Don’t touch,” Nine chides when Gavin reaches his bound hands downward in a vague effort to ground himself through the spinning, floaty feeling. “Hands over your head; I want you stretched out for me.” A shudder runs up Gavin’s spine, not entirely from the low rumble of his lover’s voice, and he hesitantly obeys, earning a hum of approval that makes the unease worth it.

The hot, pliant constriction of Nine’s mouth around Gavin’s cock leaves him utterly breathless, pushing him toward the brink far too quickly, and he struggles. Struggles to hold back for whatever Nine has planned. Struggles to keep his hands above his head. Struggles not to let intrusive thoughts of his past ruin this perfect moment.

“Ni- Nine...” he gasps when he feels himself teetering on the edge. Cool air sweeps over his pulsing, needy extremity as Nine instantly withdraws, and Gavin keens, half in frustration, half in pleading.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Nine murmurs soothingly, fingers kneading soothingly at Gavin’s sides, hips, thighs. “Be patient for just a moment more, okay? I want you inside me, so much...”

Gavin’s breath catches, heart leaping to his throat as he pries open his eyes to meet the man’s gleaming ice-blue gaze, to take in the desperation creasing his features and belying the cool calm of his voice.

“Do it,” Gavin breathes, hips stuttering upward in anticipation. “Please, Nine; I can’t- I need you; I can’t wait anymore.”

“I’ve got you,” Nine repeats, straddling his lap. Gavin isn’t sure when the man undressed, but he’s treated to a mouthwatering view of firm tattooed thighs, lean hips, chiselled abs that never end, a broad chest, functionally muscled arms... Nine leans forward, reaching behind himself, and Gavin swallows hard at the brush of heated, flushed dick against his own stomach.

Then his mouth goes completely dry as he realises suddenly ― prompted by the shudder of Nine’s frame and the faintest of whines ― that this utterly perfect god of a human above him had a fucking _plug_ up his ass.

“Nine...” It comes out a strained, awed plea, and Nine responds with a shaky breath, tossing the thick pink toy to an unoccupied space on the bed and pressing his hands to Gavin’s chest.

“Ready for me, sweetheart?” Nine pants, spreading his legs just so and rolling his hips back just perfectly so Gavin’s throbbing cock slides along the warm crevice and scrapes across a slightly swollen pucker, slick with whatever lube Nine used to get the plug in in the first place.

“Yes!” Gavin yelps, bucking upward in an automatic attempt to get inside. “Fuck, Nine! _Please_ , godfuckingdamnit!”

“Watch your tone, agent,” Nine chides in a remarkably even, if somewhat breathy, tone as he digs his nails into Gavin’s chest. “Address your superiors with respect.”

A roleplay? Gavin hasn’t ever really considered even trying them before, but hell if he’s gonna miss out, especially if it gets him inside that sexy fucking ass any faster.

“Sorry, _sir_ ,” he returns with as much a smirk as he can manage through his desperation.

“Cheeky,” Nine chuckles, lightly flicking Gavin’s nose and then shifting up to his knees. Bracing one hand on Gavin’s hip, he reaches between them to guide Gavin into him.

“Wait!” Gavin blurts, immediately berating himself for interrupting and missing out. “Condom?”

A slow smile smooths away the momentary flash of confusion on Nine’s face, and he leans down to touch a light kiss to Gavin’s lips.

“I’m delighted that you thought of it,” he purrs. “But I’ve seen your physicals from training, and I know you’re clean. I could go find my files and show you my check up from last month, _or_... you could trust me when I say I’m also clean.”

Maybe not missing out.

“No condom?” Gavin clarifies hopefully, heat surging through him and replacing the flicker of cold adrenaline.

“Not unless you really want it,” Nine promises, kissing him again.

“No condom,” Gavin decides without hesitation.

Pleased, Nine moves back and resumes where he left off, taking a moment to make sure Gavin’s cock is thoroughly coated in excess lube before slowly sinking down on him with a groaning sigh of relief, like he wanted nothing more than this, right here. Gavin matches the sound with a strained whine, bringing his hands down before remembering Nine’s command and quickly flopping his arms back up.

“Good boy,” Nine murmurs breathlessly, stroking his damp hand up Gavin’s stomach to squeeze at his chest. “That’s it; so good for me... My sweet Gavin... Such a good boy for me...”

That's it; Gavin's lost. He tries to call out his lover's name in warning, but he's not entirely sure he's even intelligible; blinding white consumes him in a wave of hot bliss, and every slow grind of Nine's body around his wrings another spastic jolt from his hips, until the pleasure leans to an edge and causes twinges of pain.

"Phckphckphck... FUCK, Nine!!" He can barely form a coherent thought, much less force his tongue to verbalise it; his entire body has rebelled, taut as a bowstring, and a heavy concern wells up as the deepest, most instinctual part of his brain realises his wrists and ankles are bound, unable to move.

It explodes into outright panic as a sharper, more immediate pain than oversensitivity courses through his chest, and no matter what he tries to tell himself, all he can see is the manic glee in Kieran's eyes as he draws his fist back for another blow.

"NO!!" Gavin screams, reactively covering his face and bucking violently.

Gotta get his hands free... Gotta get free and get _away_ , quickly!

He wrenches at the cloth around his wrists, still thrashing, and smacks at the hands that reach for his own. He does his best to keep those hands from touching him, to get the weight off his hips, but despite his efforts, the weight remains, and free hands will always subdue bound hands; long fingers dig into his forearm, pluck at the cloth, drag it off.

Freedom! Now get away!

He twists, trying to roll out from under the man pinning his hips, but strong hands grasp his shoulders and force him onto his back again.

"Let go! Fuck off!"

"Gavin, stop! Please!" As if speaking himself broke some kind of bubble of silence, he can suddenly hear the desperate, anxious voice calling out to him. A familiar voice.

All at once, realisation crashes down on Gavin, and he goes utterly still, the red haze of terror lifting and leaving him staring into extremely concerned crystal blue eyes.

"Ni- Nine... Richard..." A different kind of fear grips Gavin's gut, and all he can think is that any second now, Nine is going to shake his head and claim that he can't be with someone whose PTSD interrupts their intimate moments. He starts blabbering. "Oh, shit, fuck; Rich, I'm sorry. I swear, I didn't- Ignore that; I just... It's nothing. We can go back to what you wanted to do; I'm sorry I ruined it... I'll suck you off. I'm sorry; it won't happen again, I swear. I'll do anything you want, I promise! Please; I'm so sorry..."

"Gavin..." Nine whispers, gently cutting into his ramblings and sliding his hands up to cup Gavin's jaw. "Gavin, sweetheart... My precious Gavin; it's okay. It's okay; everything's okay; I'm right here. Just tell me what happened. Did I hurt you?"

"No!" Gavin blurts before he can say anything else, hands snapping up to grab his wrists and keep him in place. "No, it's not- You didn't hurt me; you didn't do anything wrong. It was all me, I swear."

"Then what's wrong? Talk to me, Gav, please."

"I- it's nothing." He can't meet Nine's gaze now, and that only makes the man more determined.

"Gavin, that was _not_ nothing," Nine scolds firmly. "I know a panic attack when I see one. What happened? Where did you go in that stubborn brain of yours?"

"I didn't-" Gavin cuts off abruptly at the warning look on Nine's face. Gripping the man's wrists tightly and closing his eyes so he won't have to see the judgment he knows is coming, Gavin takes a deep breath, like a diver preparing to go under. "My first boyfriend. Kieran McConnell. He was the most charming person I'd ever met, and I had only just come out, so I didn't have any basis to compare him against. He said all the right things, made all the right gestures; I fell _hard_ , and I didn't even care. I explained away the treatment getting rougher, rationalised the missed dates and anniversaries, pretended it didn't bother me that he didn't even remember my birthday despite being together for almost two years. The first time he... punched me... in the bedroom... I questioned it, almost left... and then he turned right around and took me out for dinner at my favourite restaurant of the time, so I pretended it hadn't happened." In spite of the momentary falter, the words fall so easily from his tongue, lost as he is in the memories unravelling behind his eyelids. "I pretended I understood sadism in bed, pretended it didn't bother me that we didn't establish any safe words, pretended I wasn't tired of having to pretend at all. Whenever anyone asked about the bruises, I made up excuses, until I was just too damn tired to bother, so said nothing. It wasn't until this tiny, freakishly strong Asian chick literally pulled me out of a slump, took one look at me and said, 'Who the fuck is abusing you and why haven't you called the cops yet?' that I realised what was happening to me. After a long talk with her, I went straight to Kieran's apartment and packed up my shit to leave for good, but he came back from work early and caught me. We argued, and insults led to shoving, shoving led to a punch, and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor in a puddle of blood with a broken nose. He... He _really_ beat me then, and he straight up got off on it too. Three times. I was lucky he got a call from some buddy or another; it distracted him enough for me to get to my phone and send a literal SOS to Tina, who called the police and hauled ass to the apartment ahead of them."

A slight, tense silence falls, and Gavin allows himself to peek up at Nine, the faintest wry grin ghosting over his lips as he manages to re-establish some of his walls, and adds, " _She's_ lucky the cops got there as quickly as they did, or she'd have been arrested for aggravated assault."

"Gavin..." Nine chides, emotions warring on his features. He still hasn't moved his hands from Gavin's face, and his fingers are now delicately tracing the lines of his features. "This isn't something to joke about..."

"I have to," Gavin replies quietly, strained humour vanishing. "I have to make it a joke, or I panic at _everything_... loud noises, sudden movements; even unexpected touch. I lived like that far too long after I got out of the hospital; I'm not going there again."

"But you did," Nine points out, pulling his hands away and dropping his gaze to the side in shame. "And I caused it."

"No... No, Rich... Nine, look at me," Gavin says insistently, pushing up to his elbow and reach up with the other hand to take Nine's chin and make him look. "It was not your fault. I will never shame your kinks. What happened was my own fault, and I swear it won't happen again; I'll do anything you want, I just... I guess I should've asked what you like, so I could prepare myself."

"No, Gavin, sweetheart..." Nine takes his hand with one of his own and uses the other to haul Gavin up so they're sitting chest to chest with Nine still in Gavin's lap. "Don't ever think you have to force yourself just to please me. I may have my kinks, but I will never, ever force them on you; if you aren't wholeheartedly into it, we won't do it. Likewise, don't be afraid to ask for something _you_ want; unless I truly do not want to do it, I won't deny you, and I will absolutely never judge you. Do you understand me?"

God, this man is perfect...

"Yeah," Gavin whispers, choking up with astounded joy that he could be so lucky to have someone like Nine.

"Good," Nine smiles, touching a soft kiss to the corner of Gavin's mouth. "Now, you're going to get some sleep, and-"

"Wait," Gavin cuts in, frowning. "What about-?" He breaks off, flushing with embarrassment and mild shame. Nine laughs softly, holding him tightly.

"Fortunately, I reached satisfaction shortly after you did; you denied me nothing. No more protests; get some sleep, and first thing in the morning, you and I are going to the shelter to find you a cat."

"A... cat?" Gavin asks quizzically. Nine doesn't answer; he merely smiles and gently coaxes Gavin under the covers, cleaning him up and tucking him in before sliding into bed behind him and cuddling up for the night.


End file.
